


More than anything

by CherryPoison



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Caring John, Drug Use, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Insecure Sherlock, Love Confessions, M/M, NSFW, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Burn, Top John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryPoison/pseuds/CherryPoison
Summary: After a break in at 221b, John shows Sherlock that he means more to him than anything. Sherlock is confused and John is determined to speak up this time and show the great detective just how special he really is.





	1. Chapter 1

In any regular home, most people would wake up to the beeping of their alarm clock; the hum of traffic on London roads as the city comes to wake; even the voice of a loved one for those who are so lucky. For John Watson, waking up never quite worked that way even on a good day. To sleep in 221b was a challenge all its own but if that wasn’t bad enough, the variety of ways that a person can be woken is rather remarkable in its own right. From his mad flatmate running in to shout about a case to explosions to being kidnapped, the list was endless. John honestly thought that by now he had been woken by just about everything, but he was wrong. What he had not expected on such an average night, was to be woken by the sound of Sherlock knocking quietly on his door at 4am. At first, John’s sleep addled brain was unable to distinguish what the noise was, it wasn’t exactly common protocol for anyone to knock at 221b by this point. Blinking away the sleep, John hoisted himself up a bit and rested on his elbows, pulling the quilt up to cover his bare chest. He knew that Sherlock wouldn’t care, but he liked to think that he had some decency. “Come in” he called after a moment, realizing Sherlock was just standing there on the other side of the door which was… odd. Despite it being dark, John could see the door swing open slowly and the detective moved into the room with a strange shuffle. “You alright?” he asked, immediately concerned by his flatmate’s strange behaviour. Anyone who knew Sherlock Holmes knew something was wrong when the detective was mobile and quiet at the same time, normally John found himself silently wishing he would shut up half the time.This was not the case now. Right now he wished more than anything that Sherlock would just say something. Anything. Silently however, Sherlock shuffled forward and then John saw it. Behind him, in the dark, was a masked man dressed all in black with a gun pressed clearly to the base of Sherlock’s skull. Fear spiked through John’s veins in an instant as he watched the pair move into his bedroom and stand in the glow of the streetlamps. As they got closer, John could clearly see that his friend’s wrists were bound tight and it made him feel sick to his stomach. They had both been kidnapped due to Sherlock’s work many a time in the past, but this was different. This was in their home. On instinct, John went to get to his feet but the gunman spoke in a low tone, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you… not unless you want his pretty brains painting the walls.” John went still instantly and felt his heart stop in his chest if only for that brief moment. He was sat on the edge of the bed in his pyjama bottoms while facing what seemed to be a real life nightmare but unlike his usual terrors, he couldn’t wake up. “What do you want?” John asked after a brief moment, attempting to suppress the slight quiver to his tone and have his face remain as emotionless as possible. 

“Well now… that is the question” the gunman said mockingly, “You and your little friend here got someone I know sent down for a long, long time. I’ve come for some… compensation. Valuables are preferred but… if you have nothing, the satisfaction of taking his life and yours will do just fine” he said flippantly, you could almost hear a smug smile forming under that damn skeleton mask. 

John was still and thoughtful for a moment, but then he felt sick to his stomach. He had some across many sick people in the time he had been helping Sherlock on cases and he had seen a few people like this. That was the problem, people like this weren’t really people at all, they had no regard for human life and would do anything to reach their ends. It was people like this man that terrified John to no end because unlike the unhinged and clinically insane who go on sporadic rampages, these people were calm, collected and organised. That meant that unless John played this right, there was a high chance they were both going to get burned in this encounter. After what felt like an eternity, John nodded and stood slowly, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture, “Alright, alright, I have a few things you can have. I wouldn’t bother expecting anything off of him, unless you fancy a nice pair of dress shoes” he sighed. Making sure to keep his movements slow and non-threatening, John opened the side table by his bed and rummaged through a few things. His gun was sat there but he knew without a doubt if he drew it, Sherlock would be killed in an instant and that was not going to happen as long as he could prevent it. Keeping himself collected, John pulled out a box which contained a pristine watch, a limited edition rolex that was handed down to him from his grandfather. It was in mint condition and he knew the gunman would have no quarrel in taking it as a prize. Despite his reluctance to part with the item, John placed it on the table. At the end of the day he knew a watch was nothing in comparison to the life of his best friend. As he rummaged, a few items came to the table; silver cufflinks, his phone, a few jewelry items he had received as gifts… All in all there was a at least a grands worth of items. He pulled his laptop in as the robber could clearly see it on the side, then he sighed and stepped back, “That’s all of it” he said, facing the man and standing firm, “Take it and go already”

Shaking his head, the man gestured towards John with his hand, pointing at his chest, “Those too” he snapped, “Hurry up”. At first John didn’t know what he was on about but then he looked down and realized that he was wearing his dog tags. Reaching up, John took hold of them and glanced at Sherlock. This was the first time he had seen the other’s expression and he had to admit, it confused him. The detective looked like he was about to cry… he was slowly shaking his head in a silent ‘no’. John smiled at him softly and pulled the tags from his neck, the ping of the metal was audible in the stone cold silence that seemed to hang in the air around them all. Dropping the tags on the pile, John swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped away. Before he could speak again, the man practically threw Sherlock at him and John automatically wrapped his arms around his friend, protecting him as they fell to the ground. Apparently, John had hit his head when they had reached the ground because the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes and Sherlock was calling his name. 

“John! John for the love of -... oh … you’re awake. Are you alright?” the detective seemed distressed and John realized he was laying there with Sherlock wrapped in his arms. Groaning, John sat them up and winced as the pain shot up his back. Usually when he fell he would always go to the side to reduce injury but this time he had to protect Sherlock and he was gonna pay for it apparently.

“I’m fine” he said, moving to unbind Sherlock’s clearly sore wrists, pulling the ropes off and tossing them carelessly to the floor, he would worry about those later. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” without a thought, while he was speaking, John began to check Sherlock over, looking for any signs of physical trauma and to his relief finding none. It was only when he looked back to Sherlock’s face in the dim light that was still creeping through the windows that he realized where the trauma was. Despite his usually pale complection, the detective looked like a ghost, his eyes seemed glossy and he was looking at John like he was afraid to look away in case he might disappear. “Hey…”

 

“You… thank you” was all Sherlock seemed capable of saying. He was in shock, clearly, though he never liked to admit things like this did manage to get to him. At the end of the day, he had been woken with his hands bound and a gun pointed straight at him, that would be enough to traumatize most people. “Why did you… Your things?” he murmured, his expression looked… lost. 

 

“You are worth more than any possession I could ever own Sherlock…” John said simply. Seeing his friend in this state was painful and it felt like his heart was being tugged. Normally, Sherlock wasn’t one for any physical affection but for once, John decided he would give it regardless. Shuffling over, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s torso and pulled him close to his chest, “I’ll always look out for you Sherlock, just like you have done for me.” he said softly. It was clear by now that the man had long since fled and it was time for them to collect themselves. “I’m going to go lock the door and call Lestrade, you should have a lie down for now, take my bed alright?” he prompted, easing them both to their feet and helping Sherlock to sit on the edge of the mattress. It was strange, Sherlock usually hated being mollycoddled but he accepted it at this moment. John left the room, checking the whole flat before securely locking the door. He made a call to Lestrade and one to Mycroft who assured him the thief would be caught. He knew with those two on the case there was a high chance of success but he offered his help anyway before returning to check on his shaken friend. Upon getting back to the room, John felt his heart sink at the sight of Sherlock sitting exactly where he was left, unmoving. Looking back on the situation, John realized how entirely different that must have been for his friend, normally Sherlock always has the upper hand or some means to escape situations like that without too much of a fuss, this time around he was helpless. Moving over to the bed, John sat beside him, “Sherlock, come on… lay down” he urged gently.

“I...I don’t want to sleep alone right now” Sherlock’s voice was different to usual, that deep and strong baritone sounded far weaker and it unnerved John just a bit. 

“Alright, come on then” John said, shifting to the other side of the bed and sliding under the covers. He watched as Sherlock thought for a moment before copying, curling up and shifting closer to John. At first, he didn’t know whether Sherlock was just getting comfortable but after a few moves, John shifted over and wrapped his arms around the detective, moving so the brunette’s head was rested on his chest, “It’s alright” he breathed, running his fingers lightly through the other’s curls. For a moment, Sherlock seemed to freeze up, but then he relaxed in to the touch and soon enough wrapped his arms around John’s waist and started to doze off. Looking down at the detective, John found himself smiling softly, Sherlock really was beautiful when he slept. He was quiet, still and peaceful, looking as petite as a porcelain doll. It was then that John realized he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on, for a second he was embarrassed but then he closed his eyes, it hardly mattered now. What mattered was that Sherlock was safe in his arms.


	2. Just 5 Minutes More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of the morning, the pair realize there is a change in their relationship but can't quite see what it is. John is the calm one here, Sherlock... not so much. Then again it isn't every day you wake up beside the man you are unwittingly falling for is it?

When the sun finally managed to pour in through the windows, John found himself waking up with a pounding in his head and he had to suppress a groan when he shifted his stiff shoulder. Feeling groggy he went to move, however it was then that reality dawned on him and he opened his eyes to see a still slumbering Sherlock resting calmly on his chest. Blinking once, twice, three times John was sure for a moment that he was hallucinating, until the events of the early hours came flooding back to him. At first he felt sick, memories of Sherlock being held at the precipice of death always made the doctor’s stomach turn. The feeling soon faded though as he watched his dear detective sleeping soundly, it was something he very rarely saw. Sherlock never really took care of himself properly so for him to sleep like this… it was a miracle of sorts. For a few moments he laid there, simply taking in the sight of Sherlock; face slack, body relaxed and breathing slowly. It was rather adorable as Sherlock let out a nasally snore occasionally, at the small sound John couldn’t help but smile a little. It was a small and quiet sound but after John noticed it, it was all he could focus on. At some point, Sherlock must have moved as a few of his dark curls had fallen forward, resting messily on his forehead. Assessing the situation briefly, John realized he had one arm was pinned under Sherlock’s torso but the other was freely resting at his side. Using the opportunity, John reached up carefully with his free hand and delicately brushed a few of Sherlock’s stray curls back. He knew it was ridiculous, looking at this situation as an opportunity… but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Years of looking at a man you want so badly and can’t get close to is enough to drive anyone mad, so John decided for once, he was going to be selfish and enjoy the little contact he could get. After all, Sherlock would brush this off like he did any life or death situation and go on as usual. Sighing, John closed his eyes and tried to just enjoy the moment, ‘I wish I could wake up like this every morning…’ he thought while wrapping his free arm around the other man, hugging him gently. It was then that the detective began to stir and John felt his heart drop a little, ‘This is it… he’ll back off and this won’t happen again… please just give me five more minutes’ Peeking at the brunette, John hoped he was just moving around in his sleep, but no such luck. For a brief moment, he thought about simply pretending he was still asleep but Sherlock would already know he was awake without question so there really was no point in trying that one. “Morning, did you sleep alright?” John asked, his voice a little rougher than usual. 

Sherlock made a snuffly noise and looked up at John, his eyes half lidded and he expression soft, “Mmmm? Oh… I slept well, thank you” he hummed, closing his eyes and resting back on John’s chest, “You are very comfortable you know? I’m somewhat envious of those bimbos you bring to bed now” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Sherlock’s mind seemed to catch up with him, he tensed and John found himself blushing but that quickly dissipated because the next thing John knew, Sherlock had practically thrown himself backwards and was now on the other side of the bed, “I…. I didn’t mean like that I just uh… excuse me” he stumbled over the words and just like that… he was gone, practically fleeing the room. John had to admit he was almost stunned, he didn’t know why though, Sherlock was always a rather erratic person but something about the way he seemed to bolt out of the room made John’s chest tighten just a bit. ‘Oh stop it! You knew this would happen anyway. It’s business as usual, get a grip’ He mentally scolded himself, taking a deep breath before clambering out of bed. Stretching, he felt each and every bruise on his back and sighed, “Bastard could have at least pushed us onto the bed” he muttered to himself before heading to the bathroom. The flat was awfully quiet, it was something that John normally craved but for some reason he didn’t like it now. He would be lying to himself if he tried to say the events from the early hours hadn’t affected him at all. In all honesty he had been so concerned with assisting Sherlock that he hadn’t even processed it all yet but he would worry about all of that later, for now he just needed a damn shower and a cuppa. 

The day dragged on uneventfully as John had expected, Sherlock had come out of hiding eventually and went straight into normal bored-mode. Part of John wanted to talk about what had happened but then again, they didn’t do that, did they? They never talked about anything meaningful unless it somehow related to the case they were on at the time. So why would this be any different? There had been no news on the man who had come into their home, no knocks at the door from Mycroft or his minions to tell them it was safe again, no nothing. John sighed, he wanted to grab his laptop to blog and check his mail but realized very quickly that he didn’t have it anymore. “Sherlock? Can I use your laptop?” he called from his chair in the living room, scanning around for wherever the detective may have left it this time. For a man who had an organized mind palace, he sure as hell never organized anything else in his life. The living room always made it look like they had been raided or something along those lines, paper and books and evidence from the Yard lay littered all over the room and he knew somewhere under one of the precarious piles would be what he was searching for. 

“Yes of course, it’s under the fungus research pages to the left” Sherlock called back from the kitchen, knowing John would otherwise destroy his system in his search. John sighed and rolled his eyes, even though he knew no one would see him. ‘Of course it’s under that…’ he thought with the usual feeling of fondness. Although Sherlock tended to drive him crazy with all of the weird things he brought in to the flat, at the end of the day, John wouldn’t have it any other way. Well… maybe he could do without the body parts in the fridge but that was a whole different thing. Grabbing the laptop, John plopped himself back in his chair and got to work, looking through his emails and filtering through all of the backed up cases waiting there. There was a system, he would put all of the simple ones rated a 1-4 aside for when Sherlock needed a quick fix, the ones that seemed to be a 5-7 he would leave marked as unread and anything 8+ he would pin and get Sherlock to read. It was tedious but at the end of the day it worked well

While John worked away in the living room, Sherlock found that he couldn’t help but watch him from the corner of his eye. The doctor had always managed to intrigue him somehow from the day they met but after the incident in the early hours, John had absolutely astounded and confused him. While being bound and held at the mercy of the gunman, Sherlock had felt his mind and body freeze as he came to the realization that he had no chance to get out of it. Standing in the other man’s room, he had watched in amazement as John had calmly handled the situation, giving up his own possessions… John had always put his safety above anything else, it was part and parcel with regards to his personality and military background after all. The thing is, recently, Sherlock had been noticing more and more often how John had been taking care of him more around the house and even on cases. At first, he had found the behaviour slightly irritating and he almost scolded the other but by this point it had become something he almost liked. While watching John work, Sherlock soon found himself smiling a little but then John looked up and his heart stuttered in his chest as he spun away, pretending to be working on something elsewhere in the kitchen. A blush came up on his cheeks and he felt embarrassed at being caught just watching his friend but hoped John wouldn’t think anything of it. Why would he anyway? 

After a while of sorting through all of the emails, John looked up to see which ones he should alert the detective on and came to realize Sherlock was watching him. That was certainly an uncommon occurrence, Sherlock seldom even looked in John’s direction when they were speaking, sometimes he could even leave the room and put a balloon in his place and somehow the other man wouldn't even notice. Most people would probably have thought nothing of it and gotten on with their day but for some bizarre reason, John found that he couldn't do that. He put the laptop aside and got up, heading into the kitchen, “Sherlock everything alright?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You’ve seemed… off”

“Everything is fine John” Sherlock sighed, turning awkwardly to face the other, “I’ve just been thinking is all, don’t concern yourself so much” 

At that, John frowned and moved over, putting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and ignoring the slight flinch that greeted him. “Hey… of course I am going to concern myself you idiot. You’re my best friend, I care about you and how you feel. C’mon, talk to me?” he asked softly, smiling in a way that he hoped would be reassuring. He knew Sherlock could be rather stubborn, especially when it came to talking about how he felt but after so long of dealing with this madman, John knew he wanted to talk really, even if he didn't show it. There was always something swirling around in those big brains... It was jsut a case of working out what exactly was bothering the other so that they could deal with it together. 

Sherlock looked John over for a moment, just standing still under his touch for a moment before backing away and feeling John’s hand slide off of him in the process, “I don’t need to talk about it, so do me a favour and let me work” he snapped a little more harshly than he had intended. Part of him wanted to apologize but he knew that he realistically needed to do this. There was no point in telling John what was going on in his head was there? What would the other man think if he turned around and told him ‘Oh by the way, I have developed more of an interest in you but I have no idea how to date and would need you to teach me’? Considering John was straight that probably wouldn’t go down to well. Before he could compose himself completely, he realized John had stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“Look… I’m your friend and I will be here if you need me, remember that.” the doctor said calmly, holding Sherlock who was clearly distressed as he spaced out in his mind. Soon enough he let him go and stepped back, “How about we go out for dinner tonight? Get away from here so we can clear our heads?” he suggested.

After a moment, Sherlock nodded and smiled a little, John did always seem to know what was best when it came to dealing with his emotional state and right now, the idea of getting out of the house seemed perfect. “Sounds good. Angelo’s?” 

“Angelo’s” John agreed with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Due to such a great response from the first chapter I was very enthusiastic to get out the second installment. There will be progression as things move forward but I'm aiming for a bit of a slow burn so I hope you enjoy the ride.


	3. Until he's caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkwardness ensues as John find himself stumbling over his words and Sherlock tries to understand the butterflies in his stomach to no avail.

It’s funny how much of a difference a change in scenery can make, the second that the pair had left the flat it felt as though they could both breathe freely again. Something about the events of that morning had been weighing heavily on them in there. Despite the chill of the evening air, it was fairly pleasant weather for London; no depressing rain, grey skies or harsh breezes. Sherlock looked around for a nearby cab, his keen eye spotting one in mere seconds before he managed to flag it down. Whenever John tried to do this he was typically ignored, at first he thought perhaps Sherlock had some form of presence that he simply did not possess himself but nowadays he puts it down to the fact he is a lot shorter and in turn harder to spot. They clambered into the cab and set off, sitting in a comfortable silence while the driver took them through the quiet streets. Rush hour had passed now, it was already almost 8pm and the trickle of cars that made their way through the London roads were all but in a rush by this point. Turning, John looked over to Sherlock and smiled a little, he always looked so different when they were out under the city lights. His cheekbones looked sharper, his face more solem, his eyes glinted as he analysed every little thing within his view. John’s glance only lasted a moment, he hardly needed longer than that because if he lingered, he knew he would be caught and neither of them would not want to have to deal with that sort of conversation. John could imagine it now:

‘John, you were staring at me, why?’  
‘Oh you know, just admiring your cheekbones and gorgeous eyes…’  
‘Right… Well I’m going to delete that from my memory to prevent us becoming awkward’  
‘Thanks’

While he was lost in that small uncomfortable thought bubble, he realized there was a hand on his knee and John simply stared at it for a moment as he blinked away the daze he had apparently been in. Following the hand to the person it was attached to, John realized Sherlock was shaking his knee lightly, “John, come on, we’re here” came that baritone that made him shiver slightly. Nodding, John paid the driver and stepped out of the cab, looking around to catch his bearings before turning to the detective who was watching him with a raised eyebrow, “Are you alright John? You seem to have gone into rather deep thought” he commented.

“I’m fine, just lost my bearings for a moment” he explained, “I’m starving, I hope Angelo is ready for us tonight, I might eat half of his stock” he said with a small chuckle. “I hope you are going to eat with me for a change, make me look a little less like a total pig?”

“I haven’t eaten in four days so yes I will be joining you. You don’t eat like a pig John… more like a dog if anything. Pigs scarf their food down no matter what it is and they make a royal mess of it all. Dogs are far more refined in how they eat, they will eat what they need and finish every scrap.” Normally this type of comment would have made people look at Sherlock with sheer disgust or they would be affronted. He was pleasantly surprised however to find John was laughing, crinkles forming beside his eyes and a smile on his lips. He did love to see John laugh, it was a rare occurrence with all that had happened in his life especially as of late. With Mary out of the picture along with little Rosie, John had become withdrawn for months, only recently had he begun to come back to his usual self. For a while, Sherlock had to admit, he had become rather concerned for John’s mental health, keeping a close eye on him and even asking a few others to do the same when he was not around. He knew that John would find that more than a bit not good if he ever found out but Sherlock was confident that situaution wouldn’t arise. Focusing on John’s facial expression, Sherlock began to smile too, he usually did whenever he saw that curl on the edge of the other’s lips.

“Oh my god… Sherlock… you are something else… you really are” he said between chuckles. When they had first met John found he could never understand even half of the comments the mad detective seemed to make, his comments were always harsh and inappropriate then, now however, John knew exactly what he was life and he found it hysterical. He managed to bring his laughter to an end and tilted his head, looking over the detective for a second before speaking, “You eat more like a cat… You are fussy and will eat as and when you please with no exception to the rule” he said thoughtfully, trying not to start laughing again when he imagined Sherlock as a grumpy sleek black cat.

Granted, Sherlock didn’t burst out laughing however he did smile fondly at the doctor before clearing his throat and turning to Angelo’s, “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing towards the establishment. He knew it was irrational but he usually hated waiting around for no apparent reason, it was certainly a waste of good time… normally. Interestingly enough he found that when he was in the presence of John Watson, nothing ever seemed to feel that way. He just couldn’t put his finger on why things were different with him… A personal case. One which he would be more than happy to take on. 

“Come on then” John near enough chirped, heading towards Angelo’s with a spring in his step. He always enjoyed eating out with Sherlock, it was a much more cheerful situation and it gave the detective something to do other than shout at the TV in their flat as he deduced the end of the programme before the ten minute mark. Noticing the detective striding after him, his long slender leg as allowing his to catch up in seconds, John rolled his eyes and opened the door, “After you, my dear” he said playfully, even going so far as to bow ever so slightly. Watching for a reaction, John got more than he bargained for when Sherlock froze for a split second, his lips parted in shock as he tried to process what had just changed so suddenly within their dynamic. John was obviously teasing but still he realised it was a rather sudden change and Sherlock was now apparently glued to the spot. “Hey… I was joking, you know how Angelo thinks we are basically married at this point?” he explained, looking awkwardly at his feet and hunching over a little as his eyes fell to the ground, “Sorry” he mumbled. 

Sherlock blinked a few times and looked at John, his entire body language had changed so quickly it was almost a shock. “Oh yes, I see. I have never been great at jokes” he said, strolling into the restaurant and listening to John as he followed. Although it should be a simple thing to work out, for some reason Sherlock couldn't figure out quite what it was about the endearment that made him so uncomfortable.. No, nervous. Somehow John always managed to make him feel as though he was being watched and appreciated in such a way that it made him feel regularly like there was something constricting his chest, Further study on this feeling was needed. The moment they were both inside, Angelo greeted them with nothing more than genuine enthusiasm as usual and they ended up on their usual table by the window, candle and all. Sherlock sat and watched John intently, realizing the other man had begun feigning his usual manners in order to cover up his clear discomfort. After a while Sherloc gave up and looked at his own menu to cover his confused expression, he hated not being able to figure things out. I’ll be having my usual, what about you?” he asked, trying to remember what he had read online about making small talk. 

As they sat, John tried his best to act like he wasn’t internally face palming for his own idiocy but he knew Sherlock could see right through it, ‘At least he hasn’t mentioned it… dammit John stop being so stupid!’ he thought bitterly. Looking over at Sherlock, he shrugged, “The usual probably, I know if I order more I won’t actually finish it” he admitted. Seeing the flicker of the candlelight reflected in Sherlock’s eyes made John want to look into them forever but that would be an odd thing to try and explain. Clearing his throat, he waved down Angelo and they simultaneously said “The usual” with John being the one to add the “Please” at the end of it as always.They chatted idly for a while until their food came wherein they ate without a word. Eventually they strolled out of Angelo’s, full and content, “That man really knows how to cook” John mumbled, rubbing his stomach a little. 

“Yes he does. I suppose I am grateful for getting him off of that other crime… If he had gone down for it, we would be eating at home a lot more often.” Sherlock stretched upwards and yawned. “For once I’m tired for two nights in a row, I think I have been cursed” he murmured, looking about and hailing another cab in a matter of seconds yet again.

“Welcome to a regular person’s body” John said with a smile, the smile falling when he realized he would be sleeping alone tonight. He wanted to ask… no, that would be bad. How could he ask Sherlock to stay with him again? That would be bizarre...surely. Before he could stop himself, John realized he was speaking, “Would you stay with me again perhaps?” The words seemed to tumble out before he could even attempt to stop them and at that, John felt himself go pale. It was odd, he wanted so badly to just be around Sherlock and show him how much he loved him and cared but every time there was an opportunity to do so, he became nervous. In all honesty it made sense when he thought about it, Sherlock was way out of his league in every way and was not looking for any kind of relationship besides the one he has with his work. “ I mean uh…. If you want to of course” he tried to finish and make things better but it didn’t quite work.

Sherlock climbed into the cab in silence and looked out of the window for some time, deliberating whether or not it would be a good idea to stay beside John. He had slept far better and been much more comfortable despite the lumpy mattress. His mind had been calm and his body had been relaxed. He had felt like it was the right place for him to be. After most of the cab ride was over, Sherlock turned to John and felt his heart crunch up a little as he realized John was sitting there a bit curled in on himself, he looked embarrassed and even slightly humiliated. It was only then that he realized that he had not verbally confirmed an answer and John must have taken his silence as a rejection to his offer. Sherlock reached over and put a hand on John’s knee, “John, look at me please?” he asked softly, realizing that the other man had been clearly spiraling in his thoughts for the entire cab ride probably mentally cursing himself for asking such a thing. “John?”

The cab ride had been crushing for John, the silence hanging in the air and his heart feeling like it might beat right out of his chest. Sherlock had sat in sheer silence, staring out at the city streets as they passed them by. He knew deep down that sherlock was probably thinking to start with but… for the whole cab ride? No. Soon enough, when they were a few streets down from Baker Street, John realized Sherlock was talking to him and he looked up carefully, “Sorry what?” he asked, trying to refocus himself and not look like a rejected teenager who was sulking. 

It was strange, John looked different but for the life of him, Sherlock simply could not put his finger on how. It was something to do with the other’s expression and the way he had been looking at Sherlock lately. He had noticed it before but it seemed to be far more frequent as of late. Ignoring it for the moment, he smiled at John, “I’d like to stay with you, it was rather comfortable and I wouldn’t want to be alone again really… at least until that man is apprehended.” he admitted. It was true, Sherlock couldn’t bare the thought of sleeping alone before and that hadn’t really changed. He couldn’t believe how easy it had been for him to be tired and put in such a vulnerable position and frankly, he didn’t want to experience that again so soon. In a way, he knew at least if he slept beside John, he would be protected. John always protected him, no matter what the cost. Sometimes he wanted to tell the doctor to think of himself for a change but by now he knew that wouldn’t happen. Since they had met til now, John had put his own life on the line countless times in order to keep Sherlock safe and he knew that he would never quite be able to return the favour. At the end of the day, most of the time they are put in life or death situations is down to the cases they are on at the time and indirectly down to Sherlock getting involved in them. Guilt started to pool in his stomach and he tried to focus on John instead who was now staring at him with doe-like eyes. 

John had honestly expected some kind of rejection, he hadn’t expected Sherlock to turn around and want to stay with him for nights on end. He wasn’t complaining in any way, but he was a little concerned as he usually needed some… privacy. He could put that sort of thing on hold for a while surely? At the end of the day, he wasn’t a teenager anymore, it would only be for a while, he could do that. “Sounds good” he managed to say as they arrived at 221b. John paid the driver as always and they headed inside. It was nice to get back into the warm and John shed his coat and shoes the second he could before heading towards his room, “I’m going to lay down, feel free to come join me whenever ok?” he said with a small smile before heading towards his room. He was stopped however by a hand on his wrist and looked back to see a slightly bashful Sherlock.

Despite the fact that John was being kind, Sherlock knew that logically, he had the better bed for two people but when he went to say something, he felt… awkward. It was certainly strange but he tried his best to swallow the feeling down and took hold of John’s wrist until he could articulate what he wanted to say. He cut out the long winded explanation he had and went straight for logical thought, “My bed is bigger… it might be more comfortable for us” he suggested. It probably seemed strange but there was something about the idea of John Sharing his bed that made his stomach flutter a little, he couldn’t place the reason for this though and shook it off. 

John thought about it for a second and nodded, it made sense, “Alright, mind if I go lay down then?”he asked, not wanting to be too presumptuous. He knew it was illogical considering they basically just agreed to share a room for however long it would take to have that criminal behind bars… but it was Sherlock’s room so John felt it best to ask. 

“Of course. I’ll join you if that’s alright?” he asked, feeling that same flutter for some bizarre reason. Perhaps he was coming down with something? No, he had no idea what these sorts of symptoms were related to, it could be absolutely anything. Instead of trying to deduce the issue, Sherlock simply let go of John, hanging his belstaff up and taking off his shoes as he waited for an answer. 

“You don’t need to ask. Just know I’m a cuddler... “ he said playfully, “You may wake up with me wrapped around you. Just pry me off or wake me if you find it uncomfortable ok?” He said as he went off to grab his pyjamas. One thing he would admit if only to himself, he would certainly miss sleeping alone for three distinct reasons. The first was down to the night terrors he regularly suffered. If they did come to play him up, he would feel horrendous for waking Sherlock and showing him that side of his psyche. The second was he would be unable to sleep naked as the warmer weather approached but that was a small sacrifice. The last reason would be because he would no longer be able to lay down and get himself off on will. That last one may seem slightly pathetic, but he knew that at the end of the day he was going to be spending every single night pressed up against the man he had come to love over the years… not sorting himself out was going to be more than difficult. Groaning quietly, he shook off the thoughts and got changed, making sure to wear a shirt this time around before he headed back to Sherlock’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no way these two can have things easy. Miscommunication is bound to occur... 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	4. Connected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A troubled night can bring people closer together can't it?

When John disappeared off to get himself ready for bed, Sherlock found himself going to his own room and simply standing there for a moment. He couldn’t understand why what the other had just said had startled him in a way. It seemed… nice, the idea of physical contact. He had to admit even if it was only to himself that he had rather enjoyed the way they had woken up this morning. Regret came to him then as he remembered fleeing John’s bed in a hurry after blurting out that embarrassing comment. It doesn’t matter how much of a genius that you are, it is always possible to slip up especially when you have just woken from the best sleep you can remember. Shaking it off, Sherlock got himself changed into his pyjama bottoms and slid under the covers. He had retired his duvet to the cupboard for the warmer weather and was more than content under the silk sheet, humming slightly at the coolness of the fabric against his bare chest. Soon enough, he could hear John moving around and he took a calming breath, bracing himself slightly for the company. Was it odd to feel nervous? No no… surely not. After all, he had never shared his own bed with another person. But this was just John at the end of the day. Just John…

Heading down to Sherlock’s room, John began to feel his nerves drift away and excitement took their place. This was an opportunity he was highly unlikely to get again, the opportunity to be close to Sherlock and show him how he honestly felt but in subtle ways. Some might call it taking advantage of a situation but the detective did that all the time. Now it was John’s turn. Of course it wasn’t something he was doing with malicious intent, far from it. Looking at it realistically, he just wanted to show Sherlock quite how much he is loved. When John saw Sherlock’s shock at him giving up his possessions in exchange for his life, he wanted nothing more than to tell the detective then and there that he meant the world to him. They were best friends, partners, flatmates… He had become quite taken with the brunette in recent years as well… How could Sherlock not see the obvious? Then again, it was hardly a surprise, Sherlock Holmes could read an entire life story from the condition of a jumper yet he could never tell when someone cared for him. Sighing, John headed into the room and was greeted by the rather appealing sight of a shirtless Sherlock half covered by what seemed to be a thin silk sheet, “I hope you are wearing pants under there” he teased, although there was a slight question to the comment. Sherlock was hardly known for being the most modest man on the planet and it would hardly surprise John if the other did turn out to be entirely naked although it might make sleeping beside him much more difficult than it was already going to be. He would have heard Sherlock’s eyeroll a mile away and couldn’t help but chuckle as he slid in beside.him. He almost went to cuddle up to him on instinct but managed to stop himself, unsure as to whether or not that would be welcomed. Last night seemed like a more intimate occasion, what with the near death experience and all, tonight seemed more casual. 

When John stayed on one side of the bed Sherlock was a little confused, didn’t he say he was a cuddler? If that was the case, why was he leaving such a space between them? Perhaps he was uncomfortable or genuinely thought Sherlock was laying there half naked? Various thoughts began to swirl around the detective’s head but he tried his best to slow his mind down. The last thing he wanted was to get lost in thought and leave John in mid sentence or something like he did in the cab. “You don’t need to hang off the edge of the bed you know, there is more than enough room” 

 

Looking at the space between them, John shuffled closer, “Just didn’t want to hog the bed” he said with a small shrug. He struggled with his shirt a bit, the material twisting and riding up with his movement. There was a reason that he rarely wore a shirt to bed and this was it. Sighing in defeat at the still twisted fabric, he laid back and closed his eyes. 

Of course Sherlock noticed his friend’s struggle and he couldn’t help but smile a little, “You know you don’t have to wear a shirt right? You didn’t last night and it wasn’t an issue.” he commented, rolling over so that he was facing John while resting just a little closer. He debated whether or not to just cuddle up to him and see what happened but then the realization that he himself wasn’t wearing a shirt came to mind. He had completely forgotten for the time being that if anyone should be wearing a shirt, it should be him. Since he had left John all that time ago after the Fall, he had landed himself in Serbia and the scarring on his back was there still, the long marks still slightly raised but no longer their deep red colour. Rolling back, he laid flat, staring up at the ceiling and mentally cursing himself for not considering this earlier. If he put his own shirt on now, John would surely notice and perhaps feel self conscious himself but if he didn’t… The thought of John seeing him in such a state was very… not good.

John shook his head and got comfortable, “Ah it’s alright” he said, smiling over at Sherlock before realizing how suddenly solem and… afraid the detective suddenly seemed. “Sherlock? What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately filled with concern. The other night Sherlock had been curled to his side like a cat whereas right now, he was lying flat and still on his back. It was slightly eerie and if John couldn’t see his breathing, he would have assumed a wizard had petrified him in that position or something. He got no response and shifted over, putting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and taking note of how smooth and cool the skin there was, “Sherlock?” he tried, shaking the other’s shoulder just a bit and frowning when the other tensed up, “What’s going on? It’s just me…” 

Lost in thought, Sherlock was panicked when he felt a hand on his shoulder and he went rigid. Looking over, he saw it was John but that didn’t really help, “I’m fine… Just… let’s go to sleep” he said, closing his own eyes and simply laying there. He knew it was irrational but he wanted nothing more right now than to hide himself away and never surface again. 

Sighing, John gave Sherlock’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before shifting away to the other side of the bed, “Alright, I’m here if you need me. Goodnight Sherlock” he murmured, closing his eyes and trying not to overthink things. It was a good job he was exhausted because before even a few minutes could pass, he was fast asleep. It’s interesting how sleeping in different situations changed the way someone could sleep. When John was alone, he usually slept lightly and frequently suffered from nightmares of the war which woke him in a cold sweat. When he had slept with Sherlock cuddled close, he slept more peacefully than he had done in years… tonight however, nightmares plagued him however this time it wasn’t the war. It was Sherlock. Flashes of Sherlock in danger seemed to reel through his mind on a loop starting from the day John saw him and the cabbie with pills to their lips right up until that thief held him at gunpoint. However, in this dream… he pulled the trigger and as soon as that happened, John sat bolt upright with a cry, spinning to look for the detective who was looking at him. Slowing his breathing, John rubbed his face and groaned, “Christ… I’m sorry” he said, laying back down and trying to will his heart to slow down to a regular pace. 

Sherlock hadn’t fallen asleep, his mind was far too active for that. He simply laid beside John and watched the other once he was sure that he was asleep. John looked different when he slept, he looked relaxed which was certainly odd. If Sherlock had to describe him on a regular basis he would probably say that the good doctor usually looked like a disgruntled hedgehog. He smirked a little at the thought but the smirk fell when John began to stir. John’s face began to scrunch up and he looked like he was in severe pain, the next thing he knew, John was awake and in a panic. The man apologised and Sherlock watched him for a moment, trying to assess the problem and failing miserably. Ignoring that, he moved over to John and laid beside him, “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

‘He’s here, he’s fine’ he’s fine’ John thought over and over, reassuring himself before turning to look at his friend, “I’m alright, sorry about that, I didn’t mean to wake you” he murmured, not daring to look away from Sherlock just in case he disappeared. That’s how it always felt with Sherlock Holmes, it always felt like if you looked away for too long that he would simply disappear. 

Sensing the desperation, Sherlock put an arm around John carefully and pulled him in to his chest just as John had the night before, “Relax” he said in the most soothing tone he could manage, using his free hand to run gentle trails up and down John’s back, “Go back to sleep John”. 

When he was pulled into a hug of sorts, John was surprised to say the least but he wasn’t complaining. Something about the position made him feel comfortable and safe, as though the world faded away just a little. At first he felt like perhaps he should pull away and say he was fine, that was how he usually functioned when it came to his nightmares but…. He didn’t want to do that, instead he cuddled closer, wrapping his arms around the other man to close the gap but that’s when Sherlock went still. At first John wondered why but then he felt something. Something raised on Sherlock’s back that didn’t feel right. Gently, he ran his fingers along it and came across another… and another. John knew that texture anywhere and he felt ready to kill whoever had done this damage, but he knew right now that Sherlock didn’t need aggression or sympathy. He needed normality and John could give him that. Perhaps a conversation would have been good at this point but it could wait, John simply nuzzled a little into Sherlock’s chest, let out a hum and closed his eyes, “Night Sherlock” 

After a moment of silence and deliberation as to how he could explain this away, Sherlock was stunned when John didn’t ask nor force anything out of him. Of course the doctor would have been able to tell what was there… so why didn’t he ask? Perhaps he didn’t care or didn’t want to know. Unlikely. John cared about him and John knew him… ah, that was it. John knew when Sherlock didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t. So he was going to leave it until the time was right. Sherlock relaxed just a little bit, holding the doctor just a little closer before replying in a cracked tone, “Goodnight John”. For some reason he had the overwhelming and unexplainable urge to lean down and press a kiss to his friend’s forehead but he decided against it, right now it was time to sleep. Just like the night before, as soon as they were connected, they both fell into a deep and comfortable sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get a little more emotional soon, chapters will get longer once we get past these baby steps at the beginning.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	5. Curious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are the boys capable of closing the distance or will the very thought push them further apart?

When the morning light finally came and John woke as he usually did, he was surprised to find he was still curled up against the detective who was snoring quietly above him. Closing his eyes, he decided to take in what he was feeling, from the warmth of Sherlock’s body to the scent on his chest that was just so … well, Sherlock. It was enticing in a way, perhaps it was the lingering scent of his cologne but there was something under that which made John shiver just a little as he inhaled. Shifting slightly, John’s hand moved and lightly grazed the wounds on Sherlock’s back and the night before flooded back to him. He was curious of course but he wasn’t about to move out of the sleeping man’s arms, besides, if Sherlock wanted to show him or talk about it, John would wait for that. It seemed too cruel of him to use the detective’s lack of awareness to look at something he was clearly uncomfortable with. Moments later, Sherlock began to stir, most likely he had been disturbed by John’s shifting in his arms. When John looked up into those sleepy blue eyes, he couldn’t help the smile that erupted on his lips nor could he help the immediate thought that rushed to the front of his mind of ‘God he’s beautiful’. A light blush tinged his cheeks and he hoped that Sherlock would be too tired to notice or care at the very least.,

When Sherlock woke, he looked down to see a blushing John Watson in his arms. It was a sight he could certainly get used to but… why was he blushing? Embarrassment from last night perhaps? No… something else. Something Sherlock’s sleep addled mind couldn’t quite pinpoint. Ignoring it for the moment, the detective simply smiled back at the smaller man, “Did you sleep well?” he asked, immediately regretting the stupidity of his question. It seemed like a general nicety to at least ask but considering the events of the night before it was ridiculously idiotic. It was something Sherlock had noticed, since living with John he had begun to take notice of social norms and niceties, despite his usual aversion to them. Curious. When he thought on it, he realized that he did these things just to make John smile. There was something about the warmth and pride John had when he smiled directly at Sherlock that made the detective want to cause the phenomenon as often as he could. Suddenly, he realized he had gone off into his thoughts and John was giggling, yes, giggling in his arms, the soft jolts shaking his torso ever so slightly, “What on earth is so funny?” he asked, perplexed. He hadn’t told a joke, nor made an amusing statement, as far as he was aware he had remained completely silent while he had been lost in thought.

While the detective had drifted into his own head, John had watched in amusement as his usual expression changed and morphed with his train of thought. It happened from time to time, Sherlock would fall into his mind and John would watch in awe as his face changed with each new thought he went through as if having a conversation with himself but his lips would remain closed. “Oh nothing, you just look interesting when you think.” he said, smiling up at the other man, “What were you thinking about anyway?”

“You’re s…. “ Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly and he searched his head for any word ending in ‘S’ to try and cover the tracks of his original response. ‘Sandwiches? No. Sister? Hell no. Soft jumpers? No. Scar? Bad topic’ he sighed, “Your smile” he admitted after his mind failed to give him a decent alternate word. Going quiet, Sherlock closed his eyes, not to keen on finding out what John’s response would be to such a revelation. No it wasn’t anything sordid or personal but it was certainly something he would find strange and Sherlock really didn’t want to have to answer any questions about his fascination. 

John was more than a little surprised at that but he could see Sherlock was resigning in to himself and that was the last thing he wanted to see, “Hey, don’t do that” John said softly, reaching up and cupping Sherlock’s cheek without a thought. He watched the other man’s eyes shoot open and his lips parted as though he was about to speak but no sound came out. For a moment, John had no clue what was going on but the room was silent and the air grew thick and warm. Moments passed as they watched each other and soon enough, John moved his hand away and cleared his throat. “How about I go make us some breakfast, you haven’t eaten in days” he suggested, sitting up and shifting to the edge of the bed. 

How could a touch change someone’s heartbeat and breathing rate so drastically? A topic to think over and research later. Sherlock’s mind came back online when John moved away and strangely enough, he found himself missing the warmth and contact almost immediately. Curious. “Breakfast sounds good. I’ll be down in a few moments, I feel a shower may be in order” he said, heading to his en-suite quickly and closing the door behind him.

John felt the breath he had been near enough holding in pour out and he made his way downstairs. That tension… it was strange. Normally Sherlock never seemed to respond to physical touch but for some reason this time, it looked like he had been shocked. Shaking away the thought, John set to work preparing breakfast, sighing when he saw the severed body parts sitting on top of the bacon pack again. Gathering a few bits and pieces, John pulled together a decent fry up and the customary cuppa before calling out to Sherlock. He waited as always, sitting by his plate so that they could eat together. It was one of the few things he insisted on as if Sherlock was left to his own devices he hardly ate a thing. 

The shower certainly helped to clear Sherlock’s mind, but it also allowed him time to think on a few elements of his and John’s friendship which lead into curious corners of his mind palace. He had thought back to the incident with the robber and it appeared that incident was a catalyst towards a change in their connection. John had put himself on the line for him many times in the past, he had killed for him, lied for him and nearly died for him. It was something that Sherlock both hated and admired more than anything. Something about this time around was different however. This time, Sherlock had no chance of getting out and John gave away something that took Sherlock’s breath away. The dog tags. He knew more than anyone what those tags meant to the ex-army doctor and it wasn’t something to be glossed over. John wore them every day without fail, kept them spotless and packed them away each night, although no one ever saw them. Army habit. If he dropped dead one day someone would have to identify him and that was the easiest way. Sherlock had winced at the idea, despite his disconnection from most of humanity, he had become attached to his doctor. His doctor? Since when had John become his? Since a while ago actually. When he really thought about it, John had been described as his for a long time now and he had accepted it without question. Curious. Getting back on track, their relationship had changed somehow, but how? For some bizarre reason, Sherlock found himself wanting John by his side even at night, keeping him close. Why? He had never wanted that before, so why now? What changed? Why was John looking at him differently? Why did he keep blushing? So many questions but no time to answer them, John was calling. Sighing, Sherlock put the thoughts on pause and headed down for breakfast, wrapped in a towel with his hair sopping wet. 

When John saw Sherlock, he had to take a moment to compose himself. The detective walked into the kitchen looking like something out of his own private fantasy collection! He admired the sight before him perhaps for a moment longer than strictly necessary before looking back to his food, “You’ll catch a chill like that y’know?” he said attempting to keep a casual tone while also trying his best to not trail his eyes all over Sherlock’s bare torso. It was a challenge to say the least. He dared to look up once Sherlock had joined him at the table, oh what a mistake that was. Seeing Sherlock like this made John want nothing more than to kiss those cupid bow lips and claim what he has always wanted to… but he knew that wouldn’t work. It couldn’t, could it? Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned his focus back to the eggs on his plate, “Good shower?”

‘Why on earth is he looking at me like that? Elevated pulse, dilated pupils, licking lips unconsciously... Romantic interest? No, this is John. He is very ‘not-gay’ and has no interest in me… right?’ Shaking his thoughts away, Sherlock joined John at the table and carefully began to analyse his strange behavior. It had changed after they had shared the bed on that first night after the incident, which was odd as that wasn’t the first time they had ever shared a bed, although it was far more intimate. John had never been bothered by any of their other ridiculous and intimate antics in the past, so why was this different. Perhaps a normal person would have simply asked what the problem was but to Sherlock Holmes oh no… this was a challenge and the game was on! ‘What exactly was the trigger to this?’ he thought, tilting his head and looking at John intently as thought he answers would simply appear in front of his face at will. 

“Uh Sherlock mate… hello?” John had noticed Sherlock’s odd way of looking at him as soon as it had started. He was being looked at as though he were evidence at a crime scene and it was certainly making him more than a little uneasy. He was being analysed and it felt like any aspect of privacy he may have once had was long gone. Christ, he suddenly felt bad for the people Sherlock did this to on a regular basis for a case! Swallowing his anxiety, John tried to act normal, which was bloody difficult when you have someone like Sherlock monitoring all of your basic body language and reading you like an open book. Concern flashed through John at that moment, ‘What if he realizes how I feel? No… he wouldn’t believe it even if he did come to that conclusion. Surely he wouldn’t…’ Panic swelled in his chest, Sherlock had never known about John’s emotionally attachment in the past and that had been good but now, if he knew, how would he react. Not well was the most likely answer to this. He would probably tell John about how love was a chemical defect found on the losing side and begin avoiding him. Or maybe he would be disgusted. What if he wanted him to leave? All of the horrific possibilities were too much to bear and before John knew it, he was up and heading to his room, “Gotta dash, can’t be late for work. I’ll wash up when I get home” he called behind him, swiftly rushing upstairs. 

Sherlock was left rather stunned in his chair, one minute John had been sat calmly in front of him eating breakfast and the next he had bolted like a startled rabbit. That was wildly uncharacteristic of him… While he had been analysing the doctor, Sherlock had noticed that the other had become drastically uncomfortable and began subconsciously shifting in his seat. On top of that he had been licking his lips and swallowing a swell, signs of stress. Odd. John never usually got stressed when he looked at him. What had changed? Before he could consider it, he saw John rush past the kitchen and out of the front door without so much as a word. Frowning, Sherlock focused on eating the remainder of his food but he had somewhat lost his appetite. He decided to be helpful for a change and cleaned up the plates as he tried to understand what could possibly have made John behave in such a way but to no avail. Sighing he went to lay on the sofa, wet hair soaking into the cushions. He was about to head into his mind palace when the front door clicked open, John must have forgotten something in his hurry. The floor creaked slowly and it unsettled Sherlock, John was in a rush to leave so why on earth would he creep into the flat so slowly? He wouldn’t... Opening his eyes, the detective felt his blood run cold at the familiar masked figure before him and went to move when a syringe was brought down to his neck and the world blurred out before fading to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a swerve in the story but hope you guys like it! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	6. Observancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John may not be the most observant of people... but neither is Sherlock

When John had bolted from the flat, something felt odd. He couldn’t pinpoint it for the life of him though. Despite the sheer embarrassment he felt under Sherlock’s assessing gaze, the second he had left the flat he felt uneasy. Why? Despite being round the corner and halfway down the next street, John stopped and frowned as he tried to dispel the feeling he had that was making his guts curl in on themselves. ‘What is it? What on earth is it? What have I missed?’ he thought to himself, cursing his inability to shake this feeling and move forward. Should he go back? No, surely not. How would he explain that when he got in? But something was telling him he should… Minutes passed and he simply stood there, unable to bring himself to keep moving forward until he figured out what on earth was holding him there. ‘Think. Think! I left the flat, there were a few people around, there was a car, there was a cyclist. Nothing weird. I walked down the street, there were a few kids clearly going to school, a man walking his dog and… a guy with a mask, looking down at the ground.’ John felt his blood run cold. That man. That mask. Surely it couldn't be what he thought it was. No time to think on it. John took off in the direction of the flat, not stopping even for a second as he bolted up the stairs and into the living room. What he saw horrified him beyond what words could portray. There was Sherlock, laying slumped on the sofa with a syringe in his neck and a masked figure was tying his hands with a thick rope. John had never quite understood the idea of people having ‘ice’ in their veins… until now. It was as though any warmth he had in his heart had frozen over and nothing but sheer cold hatred and rage vibrated through him now. Silence blanketed the room for a mere moment and then John lunged forward, tackling the hooded figure without a moment of hesitation. They fell to the ground and John hand his hands on the other man’s throat before he even had the opportunity to defend himself. John had never been one to exact revenge on a person but at this point, there was nothing to stop him. Below him, he watched the man writhe and struggle, attempting to push John off of him and failing miserably. Despite his size, John was strong and always had been, he compensated for height with muscle and most people didn’t expect that. A punch came across his face but it was not enough to deter the doctor, another and another came, weaker each time. Despite the pain, he remained on top, refusing to relent even for a moment. When the blows stopped coming and the man below began grasping at his hands in sheer desperation, John leant down and whispered in the attackers ear, “When you mess with Sherlock Holmes, you mess with me… and I can promise you, that you don’t want to mess with me”. At that moment, the figure below him went limp and John released his grip. Granted, the man was just unconscious but John felt a swell of sick pride at the idea. Looking over to Sherlock, he frowned and crawled over to him, untying his wrists and wincing at the developing rope burns that were already showing on the pale skin. Although he really wanted to check on Sherlock, it was more important right now to keep this man subdued. John moved back to the unconscious assailant and roughly flipped him onto his stomach, yanking his arms behind his back and tying him far tighter than need be, making sure it was secure. Sure John was no sadist, but there was absolutely no way that this guy was not getting off with no mark whatsoever, that would be too good for such a lowlife. Once he was sure the man was down and out for the count, John jumped up and moved over to Sherlock. First things first, he took the needle from his neck, putting it on the side and applied pressure to the wound with his finger to stop the bleeding. Crouching beside the brunette, he used his free hand to stroke his friend’s pale cheek, “Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?”

It’s interesting what a simple chemical can do to a person, as soon as it enters the system it can do anything from shutting down organs to simply removing pain. As a person who had introduced many chemicals into his body, Sherlock was usually quick to recover from such a thing and sure enough, he began to wake at the sound of his flatmate’s voice. Groaning, he blinked a few times to clear the fog away from his vision and looked around hazily until the events from before flooded back to him. In a panic, he scanned the room, “John! John… he was here, he was…” the words stopped the second Sherlock saw the man, tied and bruised on the floor. His eyes flickered back to John who, upon closer inspection was also bruised, various marks beginning to develop across his face. Moments passed and Sherlock put the pieces together before he noticed John’s hand was on his cheek. Reaching up, he placed his own hand over John’s, “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice slightly wary. He couldn’t process this, John had come back… he had come back and put himself in harms way yet again. Why? Why did he do this? Why did he protect him so much? It just didn’t make any sense.  
A smile broke across John’s face and he nodded, eyes flicking between their connected hands and Sherlock’s confused expression. “I’m so glad you are alright. I’m sorry I wasn’t quicker… I saw him but I didn’t notice until I was round the corner and… I’m sorry” he apologized, the smile fading from his lips. ‘If I had just been quicker I could have prevented this, I could have stopped Sherlock from being drugged by that arse…’ John was snapped out of his thoughts by Sherlock squeezing his hand. The detective looked like he wanted to say something but no words came out, instead he just shook his head and closed his eyes. John sighed and did the same, resting his forehead on Sherlock’s bare shoulder, “If I was more observant I wouldn’t risk losing you so often” he muttered.

“Losing me?” Sherlock murmured, contemplating what John had said, “What on earth do you mean?” It didn’t make sense, why would John be concerned about his absence. It wasn’t as if John couldn’t cope without him, he had coped for years when Sherlock had to disappear to dismantle Moriarty’s network. Granted he was a little worse for wear but he had found himself a partner, moved out and all sorts. So what would the issue be if he were to die? Wouldn’t John just get on with life as he had done before? 

John couldn’t look at Sherlock, he left his head buried in the other’s shoulder and tried to keep his toner neutral. He failed of course. “Sherlock, I… I lost you once before and it… It was by far the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I didn’t know what to do with myself. With you gone I… I couldn’t deal with that again. You are more than just my friend or flatmate… You are my other half. You make me, well, me. Without you I go from being John Watson to nothing. I need you. I lo-...” John trailed off, his heart stuttering in his chest. Clearing his throat, he sat back and removed his hands from Sherlock, they felt instantly cold but he ignored it and pulled out his phone, “I’ll go out and call Lestrade. You should probably go get dressed before they show up” he said, head down as he stood and went out of the flat to make the call. 

Before Sherlock could even process what was going on, John was out the door, leaving him laying on the sofa with his assailant unconscious on the other side of the room. What just happened? He didn’t understand. Sitting up, Sherlock felt his head spinning from the lingering effect of the drug as it swirled weakly around his system. What was John going to say? It sounded like… no. It couldn’t be. Sighing, he looked over to the unconscious man on the floor and tilted his head as he examined him. His knuckles were bruised lightly, most likely from where he had been hitting John. He didn’t know why but the very thought of that rat laying a hand on his blogger made a fire burn in Sherlock’s stomach but he ignored it and looked further. The rope around his wrists was bound brutally tight, clearly just loose enough to leave circulation. Rubbing his own wrists, he felt the burning sensation and almost felt empathy for the man below him. The skin was clearly being pinched and was reddening around the area, John had been thorough with his knot as well. Even when this man was taken into custody, the officers would have their work cut out for them when it came to removing the bonds. His clothes were crumpled up, clearly there was a struggle but not much of one. By the looks of it John got him pinned and had straddled his torso to keep him down. Further up, he focused on the expanse of exposed neck. It was severely bruised with two very distinct handprints. That was uncharacteristic of the John Watson he knew… John wasn’t one to be so aggressive in fights. Normally he would take down someone in the quickest and most effective way possible. It was just the way he worked, his training from the army showed through clearly when he fought but this was different. This was like an act of revenge. He watched the assailant slowly choke for air and fall into an unconsciousness state, he watched him suffer. The very thought made Sherlock shudder ever so slightly, despite John’s size and caring nature he was definitely not someone to make angry. Getting to his feet, he moved towards the man and took a breath, reaching down and pulling the mask aside. To his surprise, he recognised the person beneath it instantly. When he had been undercover as a junkie many months ago, Sherlock had stayed in a squat in the attempt to capture the leader of a drug smuggling ring. Of course, as always he had been successful and the leader had been put down for 35 years. This criminal below him was the son of the drug lord, he was 23 years old and had grown up helping his old man. “Shame…” Sherlock mumbled, giving the man a final look before heading to his room to change. 

John called Lestrade and explained the situation and as expected the DI headed straight over without hesitation. In theory, John probably should have gone back inside but he couldn’t face Sherlock, not right now. Not when he had almost blurted something so potentially catastrophic out. It was difficult. It was so difficult for John to show Sherlock just how he felt, without outright telling him. He wanted more than anything to make Sherlock understand how important and how special he was, but he couldn’t just blurt it out. What if the detective had it shoved back in his face? There was no way he could live that down, besides, Sherlock had immediately shot him down when they first met and that was just an innocent date. If he told him now that he loved him… no.  
Soon enough, Greg was at the door and officers made their way into the flat. John felt relief sweep over him until Greg looked him over, “Jesus, he did a number on you mate. You alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine, wait til you see the other guy” he said with a small laugh before getting more serious, “You should go check on Sherlock, I couldn’t get to him quick enough, he got...drugged” he mumbled, eyes low.

Sighing, Greg moved closer to John and rested a hand on his shoulder. Noticing the wince, he kept the grip light but noticeable, “John, what matters if you got to him. He’s alright, you’re alright. What more can you ask for?” 

“I just want to be more observant. More reliable. More… well, not this” he said, gesturing to himself. “I can’t protect the person that matters most im my life until he is already in deep trouble. He’s had a gun to his skull and he has been drugged and nearly kidnapped in a matter of days... “ he trailed off.

Tilting his head, he tried to catch John’s gaze but the other man was being stubborn. Backing up, he shrugged, “You aren’t a superhero John, but you do a hell of a good job of it. He’s alive, remember that.” he said before heading into the flat. 

Inside, Sherlock had tidied himself up and put on some clothes before coming down to find the living room already swarming with police. Normally this would make him uneasy as it usually meant he was being busted for an illegal substance but today he was actually relieved as he watched the beaten up assailant being dragged away mercilessly. Looking over to Lestrade, Sherlock couldn’t help but smile a little and headed over, “About time” he jested, “If it weren’t for John I would probably be causing you hassle by being locked up in an unknown location somewhere. You really need to up your detective skills” 

Rolling his eyes, Greg gave Sherlock a playful punch on the arm, “Oi! It’s not my fault you attract lunatics on a daily basis. Most people can go their whole lives without being kidnapped and drugged but you can’t go two minutes without agitating every criminal in London.” he said with a smile, “Glad you’re alright though. I think you should go talk to John… he’s really beating himself up” 

“I don’t understand why… he saved me after all. If he had come home a few moments later I don’t want to think about what may have been. “ he stopped, feeling uneasy at the thought. “Lestrade, you understand emotions better than myself… John has been displaying high amounts of affection lately. He had been getting embarrassed around me and keeps running off… I don’t understand why” he admitted. He watched the DI’s face change at what he said and go from resting to a small knowing smile. 

Understanding washed over Greg like a wave and she couldn’t help the small smile that betrayed his knowledge of the situation. He shook his head fondly at the detective, “It’s not for me to tell you Sherlock, either you’ll figure it out or John will explain sometime, ok?” 

Frustrated, Sherlock let out a huff and walked over to his sofa, falling onto it and resting back with closed eyes, “Fine, it’s not as though it matters anyway. I don’t see why I should care, it’s just John anyway” Some people used a phrase relating to the idea of putting a foot in one’s own mouth, this wasn’t a saying Sherlock really paid any mind to… until that moment. A short choked sound came from the doorway and Sherlock turned to look, he wished he hadn’t. John was stood there, eyes widened with shock and hurt, is mouth still parted from the sound he had made and his entire body frozen in place. For once, Sherlock wished more than anything that John would make one of his usual joking remarks like ‘piss of you wanker’ or something along those lines… that didn’t come. He would even accept anger, aggression, anything… No… that didn’t come either. What came, was silence and to his genuine surprise, a tear rolling down John’s slightly bruised face. Sherlock knew he should speak, backtrack, apologize, something! But nothing came out. Before anyone said a single word, John steeled his expression and turned on his heel, marching out of the flat. 

Still staring at the place where John had stood, Sherlock barely heard the DI speak but he words sunk in, “You really are an arse sometimes, you know that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very enthusiastic to continue the story so here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed BAMF!John :)


	7. Blink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's anger gets the better of him but it never lasts long does it?

John had been outside trying his best to get ahold of himself. He knew it was stupid to be afraid of Sherlock understanding his emotions but he just couldn’t help it. Something about the idea of the detective knowing made his heart beat so erratically that he felt as though he couldn't breathe. It had been a while before he had managed to get himself under some form of control and he knew that unless he returned soon it would seem somewhat odd for him to just stand alone outside of the flat. Taking a breath, he took control of his heart as best he could and stepped into the flat. He wished he hadn’t. ‘I don’t see why I should care, it’s only John anyway’ The words resonated coldly through the air and seemed to echo painfully in John's ears. He stood, simply staring at Sherlock for a moment as though he had simply misheard him, but by the look on the detective's face, he hadn't.t It was then that he felt it, as his heart clenched in his chest and his breathing stilled, a single tear escaped him. A droplet that felt like fire against his suddenly cold skin. Before he knew what he was doing, John had bolted from the flat, hurt suddenly radiating through his chest and tears beginning to sting as they followed the first one after the other after the other until they streamed from his his eyes. “Damnit!” he spat, wiping the traitorous droplets from his cheek with disdain. Why the hell was he crying over Sherlock bloody Holmes?! Moving through the streets without as much as looking where he was going, John soon realized where he was when he was greeted by the glorious sight of his local pub. Over the years John come to hate the effects of alcohol with a passion as he had watched it destroy his family, but right now, he understood if only for that moment, the tremendous appeal. 

“Why the hell didn’t you go after him you berk?!” Lestrade spat, fuming at Sherlock's apparent lack of ability to give a care in the world about the man who gave so much of himself just to keep him safe. 

“I… he… I think he needs some space” Sherlock stammered, still staring dumbfounded at the place that John had been standing. 

“Sherlock! Get your arse in gear and go get him!” the DI implored, his voice gaining volume as the frustration rose in his chest. “Or do I have to do it myself?”

 

At that, Sherlock sighed and shook his head. Without a word, he swooped out of the flat, not even bothering to pick up his coat or scarf as he tried to calculate the probability of where John may have gone in such a state. It didn’t take long for him to figure it out. Despite the doctor’s severe distaste for alcohol and alcoholics in general, one thing Sherlock knew was that in times of stress or upset, John usually found himself at the pub attempting to drown it all out. A foolish method by far but it was one that many people used on a regular basis. With haste, Sherlock raced down the roads, he had no idea at this point as to what he was going to say to his friend but he couldn’t leave things this way. Considering the length of his strides, Sherlock reached the pub not long after John and even managed to get inside and spot the man before he had been capable of ordering his first pint. “John!” he called out, rushing to his blogger's side but leaving a reasonable distance in case he had to dodge a swing. “John I… what you heard I… I didn’t mean…” 

Finally when the bartender had paid heed to John’s existence, fate seemed to frown on John as he heard the call of his name in an all too familiar baritone. Sighing, he didn’t even bother to face the man who had quickly planted himself at the bar beside him, instead he waited patiently for the bartender and ignored the detective entirely. “Pint of your finest mate” he said with a curt nod to the man behind the bar, the reply he got was a simple nod back but he wasn’t going to complain at all. No no no. He was going to get his pint and he was going to go sit down and enjoy the peaceful evening as he ignored the presence of world’s only consulting detective beside him. As harsh as it seemed, why would he care? After all.. John was hardly important was he? The thought stung but he shrugged it off, tapping his card to the reader and collecting the golden beverage before moving away and perching himself in a nearby booth where he had a decent view of the footie on the flatscreen. To his dismay, the brunette followed him into the booth and continued to talk but John tried his best to drown out every word. All he could think, all he could feel and all he wanted was to say a big ‘Fuck you’ to Sherlock bloody Holmes. 

Apologize as he might, John ignored him and soon enough, Sherlock knew it had become a losing battle. John had shut him out and he knew the blonde wouldn’t suddenly let it go and forgive him. Hell, he wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence and for some reason that was painful… Normally he didn’t care what people thought of him, nor whether they looked at him or noticed he was there but John… John was different by far. He knew John watched him with intent, he knew that John was always at his side no matter what and he knew more than anything else that John was one of the only people he could depend upon. Right now though, John wanted nothing to do with him and that was blatantly clear. Sighing, Sherlock got to his feet, “I really am sorry John, I didn’t mean for what I said to come out so coldly. You know that” he mumbled, heading out of the booth and making his way outside. It was colder than he registered earlier and it even brought a slight shiver to him when the wind blew. Part of him considered getting a cab back but he knew logically it was pointless, he wasn’t far from home only this time he made his way through the streets at a slow pace, one that would usually annoy him as he made his way through the familiar streets. Soon enough, he noticed a tug in his chest, it was almost as though his entire being was attempting to make him return to his blogger and lend him comfort and reassurance. With a frown, Sherlock shook that thought away and sighed, heading into the empty flat and feeling loneliness creep in. Despite the burglar being caught. Sherlock found that he felt no safe in what was once his fortress of solitude. He paced around the house, trying his very best to rationalise it all and calm himself but for some bizarre reason he simply couldn’t manage it. Groaning, he paced in to his own room and looked at the bed, it looked cold and unforgiving at this time and he didn’t fancy jumping into it only to think of the horrendous exposure he was faced with even within the walls of his own home. Soon enough he gave up his attempt to relax and went to John’s room, laying on the bed in the sheer hope for some form of comfort whether it be from the location, the smell or even the memory of being held. Just something…

By the time John left the pub he was tired and swayed slightly from the amount he had managed to consume within the time he was there. It was honestly astounding to him sometimes as to how much fluid the body can withstand! Staggering back to the flat, John felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and dread. He knew Sherlock didn’t take emotional issues well and didn’t really know how to deal with them. Although he had been mad earlier, he felt like quite the areshole now. Thinking back on it, Sherlock had followed him and tried to apologize sincerely, the least John could have done was looked at him. Groaning in frustration, he rubbed his tired eyed before heading into the flat. The stairs were a bit of a challenge but nothing that he couldn’t handle. He smiled a little at the memory of himself and Sherlock lying drunk on the stairs together. ‘If only I had been brave enough…’ he thought a little bitterly. Shaking away the memory, John shuffled up and into the flat. He was a little surprised at the quietness and lack of light, normally Sherlock would be wide awake still at this time, rolling his eyes and John came in in such a state. Ignoring it, he headed straight for his room, he knew this place was safe from that damned criminal and he doubted that Sherlock would have any desire to see him right now. That was until he walked into his bedroom to find the lanky detective curled up at the edge of his bed, the covers clutched in his hands where he seemed to have nuzzled into them. John blinked once, twice, three times. He was still there. Firstly he wanted to wake Sherlock and ask what was going on but he felt a wave of sympathy and decided against it. Instead, he stripped down to his boxers and clambered in to the other side of the bed, nudging Sherlock lightly, “Hey… at least get in properly” he murmured, his voice a little slurred. 

It wasn’t clear when Sherlock had fallen asleep, one minute he was laying down and the next he was being woken by a nudge in his side and John’s voice by his ear. At first he merely stirred, however the events of the day sprung back to mind and he startled out of the bed in a manner that would suggest he had been electrocuted. Stumbling, he fell haphazardly to the floor and sat their in a daze for a moment. He looked up at the bed and saw John laugh, shaking his head. He wanted to say something, to leave… to stay. He wanted to do something, anything. But all he could do was sit there and stare up at John wordlessly. 

When Sherlock sat on the floor looking like a puppy ready to be scolded, John sighed, “C’mon Sherlock, ‘m tired… get those clothes of and get into bed” he murmured, lifting the blankets and gesturing for Sherlock to get in. 

Blink. John was inviting him to sleep beside him, no remnants of the earlier anger of hurt on his face, probably due to the time frame that had passed as well as the lingering effects of the alcohol. Blink. John was in nothing but his boxers, yet he seemed either unashamed or unaware of the fact. Blink. Now Sherlock was stripping down without a word until he was in his boxers, climbing into the bed and making sure to face John. He could have probably found a shirt but he knew he was a sound sleeper and wouldn’t toss, it should be fine. 

As Sherlock curled into him, John smiled and wrapped his arms around the detecting, pressing a kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “I overreacted today, I’m sorry love. G’night” he murmured, sleep creeping in and causing John to begin lightly snoring within seconds of his sentence. 

“Love?” Sherlock whispered, suddenly wide awake as he looked up at the soft face of his most precious blogger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in the update, I hope you enjoyed it so far. Thanks for reading!


	8. Insecurities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step closer to the edge, just how close can they get before they fall?

That night, Sherlock didn’t sleep for the longest time, he was simply staring at the man who snored ever so quietly beside him. Love. John had said the word ‘love’. To most people this would mean nothing, they would simply attribute it to the amount of alcohol John had consumed and leave it at that. For some reason however, Sherlock couldn’t let it go. The way John had said it was so casual, as though he had said it a hundred times before and it had become an effortless part of his vocabulary. His tone had been so soft, so caring, so… John. Looking over up at John’s sleeping face, Sherlock felt himself smile a little, just a slight tug at the corner of his lips. It was nice to see the other man relaxed from time to time. What was this tug he felt in his chest? The smile faded and he looked down curiously, it didn’t feel like a health complication, nor did it feel like a physical sensation at all… yet there it was. A small and subtle tug directly from the center of his chest. Then, it was gone. Deciding that sleep was the best option, Sherlock tried to relax however he couldn’t seem to get comfortable with his mind racing. Sighing, he went to get up but was pulled closer to John for his efforts. The next thing he knew his face was pulled up against John’s chest and the doctor was mumbling in his sleep. Normally such an incident would have caused Sherlock to throw the other person off of him but… this was John after all. How could he do such a thing? Carefully, Sherlock readjusted himself while hoping not to set off John’s apparent constricting response to movement before he fell asleep with his own arms wrapped lightly around his blogger. 

By the time the light streamed through the windows, John was already awake. He had woken up to the realization that he was not alone and to his surprise, Sherlock was the one beside him. At first he had assumed it was some form of hangover hallucination. Maybe he was still drunk? No, no. Unfortunately he was completely and utterly sober which most people wouldn’t complain about but in this situation it was a little different. He thought back on the events of the night before and guilt wracked through him like nobody’s business. ‘How could I have been so selfish…? I’m sorry Sherlock…’ he thought bitterly, cuddling closer to the detective and running a hand down his back. There he felt the slight bumps and lines that he had noticed before. Yet again he was curious and had the opportunity to look should he want… but no. He would wait, he would always wait for Sherlock’s guidance and permission, that’s just how it worked. Unless of course the stubborn detective was being stupid at which point John was 100% happy to take the reigns and control the situation to the best of his abilities. Not long after he had moved, Sherlock began to stir and groan in his arms as he twisted his head and nuzzled into John’s chest, hiding from the morning sunlight. Chuckling, John moved a hand up to cradle the back of Sherlock’s head, “Morning… take it you haven’t had enough sleep yet?” he asked, his voice a little deep having only just awoken from his own slumber. 

Stirring from his sleep, Sherlock found that he had to fight the urge to hiss at the light that woke him, burying his face in the warmth beside him to protect his eyes. It was only when a familiar voice sounded that he actually became aware of his surroundings again. The warmth beside him was John...and he was burning his face in the other man’s chest. He went to jump back but realized John was pulling him closer, curious. “I...John uh...you uh… morning” he said weakly, wanting nothing more than to face palm from that attempt at an exchange alone. “Are you… are you feeling better?” he asked, hoping to regain his ability to speak the Queen’s english again soon. 

Humming, John rested his cheek on top of Sherlock’s head and used his other hand to lightly run up and down his back in a soothing motion. “Definitely. I’m...I’m sorry for running off like I did. I was overreacting. It doesn’t matter what you think of me at the end of the day. You’re right I’m...I’m just me.” Although it hurt to say, it was the truth, it always had been. The only reason it had hurt so much at the time was because it was a truth that had never been vocalized in the past. He followed, Sherlock left him behind. He spoke, Sherlock ignored him. He stood by, Sherlock bolted onward. It was how it had always been and that was ok, it’s not as though things were going to suddenly change now. For most people this sort of thing would be a warning sign if ever they saw one, to John however, it was the furthest thing from it. He would never be able to be on par with Sherlock Holmes, but he was ok with that. It didn’t change a damn thing and despite all the pain he knew he would end up enduring over the years for that absolutely brilliant madman… John was ok with it all, as long as he could show him just how much he meant. It was only then that John realized he had gotten lost in thought and Sherlock was racing through a rather complex apology. Shaking his head, John pulled back and slid his hand from the back of Sherlock’s head to his cheek, tilting his face so their eyes met, “Hey… don’t worry about it… ok? We’re ok.” he whispered. Sherlock’s face in his hand, the warmth on his palm, the way that the detective stopped mid word and just looked at John in a stunned silence… the immediate tension which enveloped them was sudden, tangible and almost too much to bear. 

The moment dragged on, Sherlock was held in his own stunned silence, taking in the situation and finding himself incapable of processing it. Everything was wrong. The closeness, the intimacy, the kindness and gentility… it was too much for him. He knew they were close, they were best friends, flatmates, partners… what else could they possibly be? Why did he want to get closer? The word that had been flying recklessly though his mind last night made an appearance but he stifled it quickly. It was wrong… it must be wrong. His eyes scanned across John’s features looking desperately for a hint of something, anything that may indicate his current conclusion was wrong. A lie, feigned kindness, a glimpse that he was still angry, anything would do. Even a clue that he was simply trying to end the negativity of last night before it spiralled out of control, but he found nothing. Nothing but that soft gaze and that small smile Sherlock loved so damn much! It was infuriating at first but that fury melted away when their gazes came to meet. Silence enveloped the room, even the cars outside seemed to suddenly disappear, the birds appeared to have migrated to a different part of the city. The only sound in the world at that moment was that of their matching breathing as the two simply watched each other, neither willing to speak first as the air began to thicken. 

After a while, John backed off, his heart hammering in his chest by this point. He could have leaned in at that moment, closed the distance, God knows he wanted to but at the end of the day what if he did? What if Sherlock didn’t feel that way? There had to be a better and safer way for him to show his affections to the detective without potentially destroying their friendship in the process. How can you tell someone you love them without ruining everything? He knew that he couldn’t just blurt it out, it wouldn’t work. Sherlock would hardly believe him and even if he did, what if he responded badly? John knew his views on love and relationships, they weren’t exactly fantastic. Sighing, he let go of Sherlock and sat himself up, looking down and realizing suddenly that they were both very much not dressed. He peeked under the covers and found, to his relief, that he was in fact wearing underwear. The relief didn’t last long, upon looking down, John saw his stomach sitting a little too roundly for his liking. After the incident with Mary, John had put on a few pounds and it showed. Shame at his physical condition came over him and he quickly put the covers back in place. He went to look away from Sherlock and it was then that his eyes caught sight of the scar on his own shoulder and he winced, pulling the covers up to shield it from both his and the detective’s view. He looked quickly around the room for a shirt and saw one on the floor. Reaching for it, he grabbed the fabric and swiftly pulled it over himself, the baggy design was one he was very grateful for at this time. “I uh… breakfast?” he offered, looking back to Sherlock with a smile. The smile faded though when he realized Sherlock was now sitting up himself and watching him with confusion, his grey eyes looking directly at where John’s scar was now hidden. “Sherlock?” he dared to try and get the man’s attention, his voice cracking slightly. 

You didn’t need to have the skills of deduction to deduce a man like John Watson, in the nicest of ways he was quite a simple person and he wasn’t very skilled at hiding his insecurities. Sherlock had spotted several on the very first day they met. One being the way John stood didn’t only indicate his participation in the war but a determination to not be looked down on for his injuries. He was hurt both physically and mentally, most people would accept that sort of thing but not John. He didn’t want to be pitied despite the fact he was utterly ashamed of himself. Sherlock hated it. He hated how John always looked down on himself, how he always saw himself as second best, how he always hid from the world even when he stood in plain sight. It had been obvious that John wore baggy t-shirts, oversized suits and large jumpers in order to cover up his body from prying eyes over the years. He even wore them on dates… Sherlock had always wanted to turn around and call him out, tell him he shouldn’t hide and that if anyone dared to judge him that he could do better, but he held his tongue. Now however, he couldn’t. John was hiding, he was hiding from him… That wouldn’t do. Reaching forward, Sherlock rested his hand lightly on the slightly raised mark on John’s shoulder and looked up so that he could meet the now trembling man’s eyes, “John… you don’t have to hide from me, you know that right?” he asked gently, trying his best to keep his usual baritone low and soft so as not to startle him. He felt the way John tensed under his touch but under that he felt the beat of his heart as it picked up under his skin. Fear? Discomfort? Then he noticed it, the way John’s eyes became unfocused and his breathing changed and caught a little in his throat. Using his free hand, Sherlock copied John’s gesture from earlier, cupping the man’s cheek and allowing their eyes to meet, “John… “ he breathed. 

The moment John realized what Sherlock was doing, he panicked. The touch of the detective over his scar was a little too much and he felt himself going into overdrive. He had always, always been ashamed of that damn thing. It had been the cause of many relationship issues and the cause of disgust for anyone who saw it. Since the first person he had gotten with upon his return to London to Mary, there had always been the issue of disgust… he saw it on their faces and watched the way they avoided it at all costs. So for Sherlock to go straight for it… he felt like he was going to be sick. As his mind spiralled into oblivion, he was dragged back by the sudden touch on his cheek. A thin yet strong hand guiding him until he refocused and was looking directly at those grey eyes. “I… Sorry, I should g-...” he started to try and leave but he was cut off by the shake of Sherlock’s head. It was quite amazing, the man didn’t even have to speak and yet he could silence John in an instant. 

Seeing John trying to run actually hurt somewhat, was he really that afraid of Sherlock’s judgement? His thoughts? That wouldn’t do at all. John was always so horrifically brave and selfless, he always protected Sherlock when he couldn't protect himself. Now it was his turn to protect John from himself. If anyone knew what it was to be attacked by your own mind, Sherlock knew. He knew exactly what it was like to have the deepest recesses of your mind come about like dark clouds and swallow your thoughts and obscure your judgement. He had spent years in the dark, his mind eating itself away until he was nothing but a druggie desperate for something, anything to take the boredom and pain away. That’s when Lestrade had found him, he’d taken him under his wing and given him countless cases to keep his mind from caving. Then John, dear sweet John had come along and things had come to this, he lived a good life, he was clean and he had someone he valued far more than himself. Yet John… here John was crumbling in front of him… it wasn’t fair. Taking a breath, Sherlock stroked John’s cheek lightly with his thumb, closing his eyes as he felt the slight scrape of new stubble. With that, he released John and turned slowly away from him, exposing his back in the streaming light from the window to the silent doctor. “You have no reason to be ashamed John.... I promise you” he whispered, his own shame causing his chest to tighten. He could do this, for John he could do anything. After a moment, he went to turn back, he was stopped by the feeling of John’s forehead resting lightly on his back, then to his utter shock, a gentle press of lips on what he knew to be the largest of the marks from where one of the goons in Serbia had been unfamiliar with how to use a whip. 

When Sherlock turned away, John was confused. However, as the sunlight came to rest on the pale skin of Sherlock’s back, the marks there seemed to shine. He knew they were there, of course he did, he had felt them. What he hadn’t felt was quite how many there were, marks were scattered across that pale porcelain skin in an unruly pattern like chicken scratch. The shock wore away quickly, no anger brewed at the people who had done this as one may expect, no sadness for the suffering the other had been through. Instead, a pain swelled in John’s chest when he realized that Sherlock had dealt with all of this for him… to save him from Moriarty. His heart was nearly still in his chest as he shifted to his knees and rested his forehead on the place between Sherlock’s scarred shoulder blades. Without hesitation, John pressed a kiss to the scar nearest his lips and could do nothing other than whisper against the mark there, “You’re as beautiful as you always have been”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling inspired to get this part of the story in. I think it's important both in the story and in reality that people realise they are beautiful whether they have one scar or a hundred. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	9. It makes sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not again

All of the tension that had been in the room seemed to fade away as they sat there, both of them unmoving, unwilling to break the calm silence between them. Time stood still, even if it were just for a mere seconds. An implausible possibility, but one that they was eager to entertain even if it was only for that one moment in time. It was then that the silence was broken by the slight shuffling sound on John shuffling back to his side of the bed. Sighing, Sherlock turned to face him to see John sitting there, clearly dealing with an internal dilemma, judging by the many conflicting facial expressions that glance across his features. Sherlock liked watching John think, unlike himself who remained still and contemplative, John’s thoughts and emotions filtered across his face like a complex dance as he battled with himself. Watching John was sometimes Sherlock’s favourite thing to do, on some occasions it could be more interesting to him than a case or a murder scene or even an unidentified corpse! John was… different. He was one of the most honest and sincere men he had ever met, a man with a strong moral compass and strong loyalty… he also made a damn good cuppa. “John?” he ventured to speak, hoping that maybe it would pull John back to reality a little. 

After John realized what he had said, he sat back on the bed. Normally he would have been mortified if he had done something like that, especially to Sherlock. He had hidden his love and affection for the detective for many years now, the risk of it being exposed should be terrifying, but it wasn’t. Right now, he knew what to do… he needed to stop hiding and running away. He needed to be an adult about this. He needed to tell Sherlock. He heard the other speak and turned to face him with a small smile, “Sher-...” if the universe could hate John anymore it would be astounding, he was cut off by the sound of Sherlock’s phone ringing. As usual Sherlock snapped it up and began immediately running over a few case details with Lestrade. John felt his heart sink and soon enough, he watched Sherlock jump out of bed and grab his clothes.

“Come on John! New case. Triple homicide!” he said ecstatically.

“Alright alright, I’m coming” John chuckled. 

Sherlock stopped in his tracks all of a sudden, looking at John seriously, “You have to tell me whatever you were going to say before that call when we get home, alright?”

Taken aback for a moment, John blushed and nodded, “Alright alright… come on, let's get going.” he said, hopping out of bed and pulling himself together. Before running after the madman who had already bolted for the door. His madman. Smiling to himself, John bolted after him, huffing a little as he tried to keep up with the lanky detective. He could swear sometimes those long legs and that thin frame just made it impossible for John to catch up with him. It had to be to do with wind resistance or something because no matter where they were, he always seemed to be miles behind. After what felt like forever, John saw Sherlock standing still down the end of an alley he had gone down. Relief washed over John and he stopped, leaning on the wall after giving it a quick inspection for any odd substances. Catching his breath, John sighed ‘God I’m getting old’ he thought with an internal laugh following it, he looked up and oddly enough, he noticed Sherlock was looking back for him. Straightening up, he made his way over to the taller man who actually looked concerned which was odd, “So, what have we got?” he asked, his breathing returning to normal.

Sherlock had taken off like a bullet when Lestrade had given him the last known location of a potential suspect. He had flown through the streets of London like a bat out of hell and before he even knew it, he was there, looking at the alley with intent until he turned to talk to John and found his blogger was not actually at his side. Looking behind, he saw John leaning on a wall, clearly struggling a little after the run. Sometimes Sherlock felt bad for leaving his friend behind like that, John struggled often when it came to the more physical side of cases, Sherlock knew that unlike himself, John wasn’t capable of running on pure adrenaline at all times. Concerned, he walked back towards the shorter man, “Are you alright?” he asked, looking over John and seeing the sweat on his brow and the fast pace of his breathing. 

“Yeah I’m fine, just not as young as I once was” John chuckled, trying and failing to calm his breathing and straighten up. “You do your thing, I’ll catch up”

Sherlock shook his head, “How can I possibly do my thing with no one to talk to?” 

“Sherlock, you do it all the time. Half the time I wonder if you even notice I’m not there. Now go on” John insisted with a smile. 

This time, Sherlock was the one who leant against a nearby wall, “The man is long gone at this point John, I can wait.”

Smiling fondly at the detective, John managed to eventually calm himself and get back into sorts. He had felt a little light headed from the run but that was long gone at this point. Nodding over to Sherlock, he started down the alley, “Come on then, let’s get this case underway eh?” he prompted. He watched from the corner of his eye as Sherlock followed along, that little smile on the corner of his lips, the one he always tried to hide. It was the one thing about Sherlock Holmes that people always got wrong, they thought he had no emotions. Bullshit, he was just good at hiding them away, most of the time. Looking around the alley, John saw nothing out of the ordinary, so he stepped aside and gestured for Sherlock to do his work while he watched and listened on. He watched in awe as usual as Sherlock pulled up each and every deduction, running through all of the information he collected as though he were reading it off of a screen. It never ceased to amaze John, even after all these years. Sherlock Holmes was a miracle at the very least, a man who could pull someone’s entire life story out of a single item… or an entire crime out of an empty alley. It didn’t take long before the detective had found the answers he was looking for, however this time he didn’t bolt off alone. No. This time, he had grabbed John by the hand and very nearly pulled him off of his feet, before racing away with John trying his best to keep up and not land flat on his face. It was amazing, running like lunatics through street after street, Sherlock moving as if on autopilot, guiding them without a mere second of hesitation, that was until they went for a road and John was the one to slam on the brakes. As they had been running, Sherlock had stepped into the road and the world had slowed to a near halt. A bus had been turning the corner and was inches from Sherlock when John spotted it. He swung them at that moment, Sherlock falling out of the road and tumbling to the ground, John landing flat on top of him as the sound of buses horn rang out. Stunned, John propped himself up, his body still pressed on top of the detective who also had a rather shocked expression on his face. Alive. He was alive. “What the bloody hell Sherlock?!” he snapped, the stun not lasting long. 

When they had his the floor, at first Sherlock had no idea as to what had quite happened. One minute had had been running, the next he was on the floor with his blogger laying on top of him. He was pretty sure that his back and ribs had taken a bit of a bruising but other than that he felt alright. That was until John exploded in his face, but it wasn’t anger … Looking intently over the blonde, Sherlock noticed his face was slightly contorted, pained even. “I… I didn’t see it… I’m sorry John. Are you… alright?” he asked, unsure as to what else to do at this point. John was clearly upset, his body was trembling and his eyes were fixed on Sherlock as though he may disappear at any moment, it made Sherlock feel rather small. 

Without a word, John shook his head and bent down, the next thing he knew, his lips were pressed against Sherlock’s in a firm manner, his mind not even bothering to catch up with the situation. There was no embarrassment, no shyness, no excessive beating of the heart. No, none of that. There was only certainty. The kiss was brief, a few seconds at most before he pulled back, “Do you have a death wish or something, Sherlock Holmes? Because I don’t think I can constantly keep coming so close to lose the man I love again…” he said fondly, averting his gaze and clearing his throat before pulling himself to his feet and holding out a hand for the man who was staring up at him from the floor, clearly shocked.

Kissing. John was kissing him? John ‘I’m not gay’ Watson. John ‘I’m not his date’ Watson. Why was he doing that? It made absolutely no sense! Sherlock didn’t even have the time to respond before John spoke and then he felt like a belt had tightened around his heart. There was that word again. Love. The next thing he knew he was still laying on the pavement with John holding out a hand for him to hold. It was as though his reality had broken around him and he was suspended in time and space, but he knew he would inevitably have to move. After a moment of deliberation, Sherlock took John’s hand and stood, “You love me?” he asked, his mind not all there as he tried to analyse John’s expression and posture, searching for a lie. He found none. The revelation left Sherlock feeling like he had been, well, hit by a bus!

Smiling at the clearly overwhelmed detective, John simply took Sherlock’s hand, upturned his own wrist and rested the detective’s fingertips on it. He then looked up at the man, his expression unguarded, honest and open. All these years he had sat back and never once let the man know how he felt. Enough was enough. There was no way he was going to risk losing him again without at least letting him know that no matter what he does, he is loved. “I don’t expect anything to come of this Sherlock, know that. But I had to tell you. Forgive me”

“Forgive you?” Sherlock repeated, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he tried to process all of this. How could John Watson, the sweetest, kindest and most loyal man he had ever know possibly fall in love with him? It didn't add up. John hated the things he did. John hated the way he; left mess around the flat, experimented in the kitchen, accidentally set fire to things, worked til the ungodly hours, woke him for cases… so much more. It didn’t make sense. John liked women, he always dated women, he always had sex with women, he always brought women back to the flat, he married a woman. It didn’t make sense. John could get someone, anyone, a million other people who were far better for him that he could ever be. But no, the way John was looking at him... His pulse… How upset he had been when he had said he didn’t care… The way he had beaten the assailant in the flat. The way he had given away his most precious possessions. The way he had always come through for him, no matter what. The way he had visited his tombstone every day, tears on his cheeks. The way he had been on their last phone call for years. The way he made him a cup of tea each morning. The way he raced around London with him. The way he put his life on the line at the pool. The way he had shot the cabbie with seconds to spare… The way he looked at him on the first night at Angelo’s and the way he looked at him right now.

It made sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to push on and set the ball rolling.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around and reading!


	10. Make it work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs time to process

‘Oh God, I’ve broken him.’ John though, watching Sherlock as he stood totally still in complete and utter silence, staring off into space. To most people, this sort of behaviour would be disconcerting to say the least, however for John, this was normal Sherlockian behaviour. Whenever the detective went or fell into the depths of his mind palace he could stay like this for hours. When it had first happened, John had gotten so concerned he had almost taken the detective to the A&E however at this point he knew better and simply waited patiently for the taller man to blink himself back to reality and respond. Time went by and John simply waited until he say a small flicker in those blue eyes, he held his breath just a little as the nerves began to creep up inside of his chest but he suppressed them and faced Sherlock head 

Blink. Blink. Blink. Sherlock brought himself back from his mind palace and was surprised to see John still standing there, watching him with an expression he had never seen before. Usually John watched him with awe, indifference, anger or even on a more regular basis he would get shy when caught watching but this time it was different. John stood straight and firm, despite the slight tremor in his hand. He had a smile on his face but it was small and a little wary, like he was trying to hold a brave expression despite the fact that underneath he was clearly panicking just a little. It was only natural really, if there was one thing John had taught him over the years, it was that high emotions and revelations can make a person feel incredibly vulnerable. And here was John, standing before him, vulnerable. It was honestly a new experience, the doctor was usually so strong in his character, however it was seeing him like this that seemed to round him out just a little. Over the past few days John had shown so many things; bravery, loyalty, defensiveness, selflessness, care, kindness, observancy, anger, sadness, love… Now there was determination, tinted with fear of rejection and in a way it tugged at something inside of Sherlock’s chest. He took a step closer to John so that they were mere inches apart and looked into those dark blue eyes as he asked simply, “How could you love a man like me?”

Taken aback by Sherlock’s question, John drew in a breath but before the nerves could take over, he calmed himself. He knew the detective had an odd way of working but this was different, this was his own uncertainty and disbelief. Over the years, all people had ever done to him was put him down, call him a freak, tell him he was incapable of love and being loved by another. It was all utter bullshit and anyone with a brain knew that, but John knew, after all that time the small comments would have taken root in that brilliant mind and caused unspoken amounts of damage. Sighing, John stepped a little closer himself and took Sherlock’s hand in his, squeezing lightly, “Sherlock, loving a man like you isn’t easy like it is in the movies. You are a pain in the arse, you destroy the kitchen and my things on a regular basis, you piss off criminals that try to kill us at least twice a month, you drive me absolutely crazy but guess what? I can’t live without you. When you left, it was like I died too. You’re back now and I’ve been too quiet with all of this. My biggest regret when I watch you fall that day was that I never had the guts to tell you just how much I love you and when that asshole broke into the flat and I saw the gun to your skull… I felt that regret again. How could I live with myself if I never got the chance to tell you just how special you are to me? Just how much I care? How beautiful and amazing you are? You are my other half, you have been for years. I know you don’t do this sort of thing, I get it, but I just had to show you… I had to say…” He trailed off, eyes falling to the floor as the relief flooded over him, followed by embarrassment at how in depth his admission had become. 

Sherlock listened to John patiently, watching is expression and posture, searching deeply for any hint of a lie or an exaggeration but to his surprise he found none. He knew he shouldn't be surprised really, this was John after all, but he couldn’t help himself. This seemed like such an unlikely situation for him to ever end up in, let alone with John. He considered each and every thing John had said before he spoke, squeezing John’s hand in a gently manner, “I don’t know how to deal with emotional dilemmas John, you… you understand this. But… I have noticed developments in my connection with you over time, things that I can’t quite explain. I was hoping… considering this revelation that perhaps you could show me how I could love you in return. I think I do… I just don’t know the most appropriate way to show you” he explained, trying his best to choose words carefully. 

Relief washed over John and he carefully pulled Sherlock into a hug, “I know it’s not your area but I’ll show you how things usually go alright? We can work on this together and whatever you want to do or give, I’ll be happy with so please just promise me right now, you won’t force yourself to do anything you don’t want to?” 

“I won’t. I have to warn you I may be uncomfortable with a lot… I’ve never had any emotional connection even vaguely similar to this let alone a relationship of any kind that was real. I can fake it for a case but that’s different” he mumbled, shuddering at the false relationship he had with Janine. 

“I understand Sherlock, I do. We’ll go slow alright? After all I didn’t say this to you to rush things, I said it because I’ve nearly lost you again and again, I just needed you to know how I feel, no matter what the consequence was” he admitted. 

“Well there are no consequences, unless you count teaching me how to do this as a consequence?” Sherlock said with an awkward chuckle, resting his head on top of John’s and collecting data on the way in which a hug like this made him feel. It was odd, despite John being smaller, he felt safe and warm in his arms. Curious.

John laughed at that, hugging Sherlock just a little tighter, “It is technically but it’s a good consequence, it means that somehow, you’ve given me a chance to be with you and...well I’m honored” he admitted, releasing the detective and stepping back to give him some space. “How about we go find that killer and then head home eh?”

Smiling, Sherlock nodded, leading the way but making sure to check the road this time before taking of in his usual sprint, John trailing behind him. The streets of London sailed past them yet again and soon enough, with enough deductive work along the way, Sherlock was able to find the base of operations which linked the killer to not only the homicides but a series of killing spanning over the last 2o years. Lestrade and the team were down within minutes and arrests were made. It didn’t take long to surround and clear out the building and before they could be dragged to the station, Sherlock managed to talk his way out of the paperwork as per usual. He always saw it as a waste of his valuable time to sit down and fill out a bunch of stupid forms. They had their killer and the evidence, what more did they really need to convict him? Before they could be stopped, Sherlock took John by the hand and lead him away, not caring about the whispers and sneers from Anderson and a few others who saw. They were in a cab before too long and on their way home, it was a tense ride however as Sherlock knew things would change from this point onwards, but he had no idea what exactly would be different. How would he cope with this? What if he did it all wrong and ended up hurting John? What if John wanted sex or something? How would he explain his lack of experience at his age? Would John be comfortable leading things or would he expect Sherlock to take control?

The case went by like lightning and as usual, John couldn’t help but feel the pride swell in his chest when Sherlock busted those murderous assholes. 20 years of killing, he couldn't even imagine the sick and depraved mind of that man. He watch the killed being lead away in cuffs and for some reason all he could think was of the families of those he had killed. Soon enough however, he was being pulled away by Sherlock and as always he followed without hesitation, although he was a little annoyed by the rather disgusted looks from some of the people on the scene. He didn’t miss the small smirk on Lestrade’s face though, it was to be expected really. It was no secret that Lestrade cared for Sherlock and wanted him to be treated well, if anyone could do that, it was John. When they were in the cab, it was oddly quiet, Sherlock was clearly in his mind again however it wasn’t his palace because the emotions were flickering across his features. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was so concerned about and John shifted closer so that their legs touched, “Hey, don’t worry… leave it to me alright? You know cases and crimes and all that… this is something I know… Just follow my lead and let me know if you need me to slow down.” he said gently, not wanting Sherlock to overwhelm himself with unestablished expectations. 

Nodding, Sherlock looked up at John and smiled, “What did I do to invoke an emotional attachment with someone like you?” he murmured more to himself than anything else. As usual, John smiled in return and Sherlock made sure to take in every little detail like he always did. When John smiled, it was more than just a movement of his lips to display his inward joy, it was a gesture that had a chain effect from his face to his body.It started with the slight curl at the edge of his lips which usually blossomed into a full on grin. Laughter lines formed by his eyes and he always tilted his head ever so slightly. He always relaxed his posture a little, comfort and happiness showing in the way his muscled slackened just a little bit. The main part of John’s smile that Sherlock always noticed however, was the gleam in his eyes. When John Watson smiled, it was as though the world could smile with him. 

When they arrived at 221b, John paid the driver as per usual and got out of the cab, looking back to see Sherlock had followed swiftly. Up they went into the livingroom and the abandoned their shoes and coats by the door before both falling onto the sofa. “I’m beat… fancy a cuppa?” John asked, rolling his head to the side to see Sherlock sitting beside him in a clearly thoughtful state. This was going to be harder than he thought. Shifting over, John sat closer to Sherlock, but not close enough that they would touch. The last thing he wanted to do at the end of all of this was spook the clearly concerned detective. It was like approaching a startled deer at this point, he was afraid that one wrong move would send the other sprinting in a panic. “Sherlock?”

When they had finally gotten the opportunity to sit themselves down, Sherlock found himself realizing that all of this would change their dynamics immensely. How would they now respond to each other? Would they have to speak differently? Would he have to use endeerements and sweet talk? It was all a lot to process and before he knew it, John was talking to him and had at some point come to rest right beside him. Bringing himself back to reality, Sherlock knew what John would have asked as per usual, “Yes that would be nice” he commented, trying to look easy as he put himself in what most people would see to be a comfortable position. The moment he looked up at John however, he knew that the other was not fooled. 

Sighing, John rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to think how on earth he was going to be able to do all of this with Sherlock. One thing he wanted more than anything was to show that crazy, curly haired genius just how incredible he was and how loved he was but how on earth could he do it in a way that Sherlock could possible feel comfortable with? Looking back to the brunette, John smiled a little sadly, “Sherlock, I know I kind of sprung all this on you… do you want to take it back a step? We can carry on as normal for a while if you like until you can really process all of this” he offered, despite the sadness he felt at the thought. Some people might see this as a retreat or even as giving up before they’d even begun but it was far from that. If they were going to be together, John was damn well going to make sure that Sherlock was as happy if not happier than he was. How could he force him into something if he really loved him?

Sherlock was a little stunned at John obvious attempt to make him happy but sacrificing his own happiness yet again.”Why do you keep doing that? Sacrificing your things, your time, your happiness just to protect and help me?” he whispered. 

“Because I love you… I always have. And with the way I look at things, your own happiness pales in comparison to that of the person you love.” John said without missing a beat. It was true, at least for him. If you love someone then your own happiness can be fulfilled quite well by witnessing the happiness of the other. 

For a few moments Sherlock was silent as he processed exactly what John had said. At first he wanted to react in his usual fashion, scorning the idea of love and it’s so called effects and denouncing any form of intimate attachment as nothing more than a chemical defect. But now it was different. He found himself stopping, listening and most of all, he found himself paying attention to everything John said. It made sense when he really thought about it, whenever John was happy, he felt it himself. He took a breath and shifted closer to John, placing a hand on the other’s thigh, “Tea would be lovely, this…” he said, using his free hand to gesture between them, “We can work on after ok?”

Smiling softly, John put his own hand over Sherlock’s and nodded, “Sounds good” he said before getting up and heading to the kitchen. He couldn’t wait to find out where things would go from here but he was confident that they could make this work somehow. It was them after all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been a bit busy but here’s another chapter. Thank you for reading and sticking with the story!


	11. The start of something new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for things to start moving, slow as it may seem. If all goes well, the pair can pick up the pace and see where things go from here.

After a good cup of tea and a healthy dose of crap telly, things were far more relaxed in 221b Baker street. John was sat comfortably on one end of the sofa, his jumper protecting him from the slight chill that always seemed to run through the flat. He was convinced that as lovely as the fireplace was, it was the cause of some of their coldest nights meaning it was also the reason for their heating bill skyrocketing in the winter. Every so often, he glanced over at Sherlock, just keeping an eye on the other man as though while he wasn’t looking, he may disappear or something just as ludicrous. How would they start this? Where would they go from here? Shaking his head slightly, John knew that if he simply sat here, they would never go anywhere, so he shifted over to Sherlock’s side of the sofa and lightly elbowed him, “So, I was thinking, how about a date this weekend?” He tried to pull off the question with some form of casualness and confidence, despite the fact that for some reason, it felt like his heart was beating out of his chest at the very question. It was foolish, he knew that, but it wasn’t as though he cared. This was Sherlock bloody Holmes, a man who can make women and men alike swoon with a look, for someone like John, he still did the same only it was ten times stronger. 

Turning to John, a little confused by the sudden contact, Sherlock tilted his head and though momentarily on the question. A date? It was a simple enough concept surely, but in his mind it seemed like a complete waste of time. They had been living together, working together, doing near enough everything together for years now. They had been thought he plunders and plights of life including everything from his own faked death, John’s marriage and divorce, Christmas with the families and even simple things such as dealing with being stuck in a cab during rush hour. Why would they possibly need to go on a date? Before he opened his mouth to relay this to John, he noticed something strikingly obvious, John was nervous. It took a moment to compute but then it snapped into place and without a moment's hesitation Sherlock nodded, “That sounds nice” he said with a small smile. Uncharacteristic as it was, Sherlock knew that if he had gone on his usual tirade about how pointless things are, John would have been hurt and that was far from the goal here. He knew that dates were a customary way for people to begin an intimate relationship and there was no way he could possibly deny John the experience, even if he was uncomfortable with the idea. For once, it was his turn to sacrifice his comfort for John. 

Surprised by the lack of a rant, John blinked a few times and tried to make sense of what had just happened. ‘He agreed? Without having a go… what on earth...?’ Despite his mind attempting to make sense of the answer, John simply shook it off and grinned, “That’s great, how about we start simple… I’ll cook us dinner and we can watch a movie?” he suggested, hoping that they could roll into this relationship at a slow and comfortable speed. The last thing he wanted to do was to rush things, what good would that do at the end of the day? He had never understood why people always tried to rush relationships, a date or two then bedding the person just wasn’t the way to go about things in John’s mind, call him old fashioned but he had always strived to respect and cherish his partners, granted they never seemed to do the same for him. By this point he had been cheated and dumped more times than he cared to count. Reminiscing made his face crumple just a little bit but he recovered quickly and got up, heading to his laptop. The weekend was only a few days away and John knew that he wanted to impress but he couldn’t do that without a recipe.

Seeing John rush off to research, Sherlock smiled to himself but got up and went to the kitchen to try and busy himself with an experiment. He knew he had left a pile of tobacco lying around somewhere, granted he would need to find it quickly otherwise the blood on it would become too contaminated for him to work from. ‘I knew I should have put it in a bag… ‘ he thought grumpily as he scanned the room, soon spotting the scattered tobacco from their recent cold case. As per usual, while he was working, hours went by and soon enough the night was upon them. Funnily enough, the stress of today and all the revelations had actually managed to tire the detective to such a point that his focus was disrupted. Sighing, he put his tobacco in a bag and looked up to find John was no longer in the living room, as usual he had probably spoken to him and due to the work he hadn’t noticed. Usually this wasn’t a problem, so why now did Sherlock feel a guilt pool in his stomach at the thought of John addressing him and getting no response? He shook the feeling off and went to his room, feeling relieved as soon as his head hit the pillow. Normally, sleep was simply an inconvenience, but tonight it was more than appreciated as Sherlock found himself drifting off into slumber within seconds. 

The days passed quickly for John, each one bringing more and more nerves to the surface as the weekend approached. Doubts flung themself left and right through his mind and it took all of his will power not to just cave and give up on things. He was not going to simply chicken out on Sherlock, not now. Saturday rolled in and John found himself waking promptly as always, his internal military body clock never failed to have him up at the crack of dawn. He stayed in bed for a moment, looking up at the ceiling as he attempted to get his thoughts in order. He had been looking at a million various things he could do for the weekend but at the end of it all, he had settled on something nice and simple. Sherlock was no blushing virgin woman on her first date so the whole flowers and chocolates idea had gone out the window. The detective wasn’t a crazed money hungry woman who needed the utmost fineries in her life. He was Sherlock, he was that lunatic who messed up the flat and brought killers into the house. Sherlock Holmes was a man who would go days without food or talking or anything. A man driven by his work. A man compelled to live life in cases and killers and cover. After all of that research, John had decided on the simple things to start with. Firstly, breakfast in bed. Something so utterly simple and yet he felt it would be appropriate as he knew that Sherlock hadn’t eaten in two days. Taking a breath, John steadied his unwelcome nerves and swung himself out of the bed, wincing at the pain in his knee but shaking it off promptly before grabbing his dressing gown off the back of the door and heading to the kitchen. 

Usually when Sherlock decided upon sleeping, he would remain asleep for ridiculous amounts of time. He could sleep from anywhere between a minute and two full days, it just depended on the circumstances. For the most part he slept for a few hours at most which was why the sound of John in the kitchen at the crack of dawn woke him with ease. To be honest, any noise seemed to wake him since the incident, perhaps it could be described as his own form of PTSD. He hadn’t told John but he mostly avoided sleep these days due to shear stress. The amount If available cases had dwindled significantly and his interest in experiments had done the same. He actually found, especially when he was alone in the flat, that he was afraid in way to lose his mind into his usual research. Shaking the thought away, Sherlock listened intently to the clattering sounds coming from the kitchen. He could clearly hear the stove and a frying pan judging by the specifically light change it made when it contacted the hob. He could hear the cracking of eggs and the hiss as they made contact with the heat, on top of that there was the smell. John was obviously making toast as the scent wafted pleasantly up the stairs. ‘He never cooks a full breakfast’ Sherlock thought to himself, face betraying his thoughts as his eyebrows knitted together while he listened into his blogger's movements. 

A headless chicken would be the correct description for how John looked as he dashed frantically around the kitchen. He was almost tripping over his own feet but that didn’t bother him, all he cared about at that moment was making sure the eggs didn’t burn while he grabbed the bacon from the fridge. He had to dig about a bit, Sherlock had clearly put a bag of… something slimy… in the fridge. Funnily enough, John honestly didn’t care to discover its contents, especially while he was cooking. He grabbed onto the smoked meat and dashed back to the pan to salvage the eggs which were certainly looking a little crispy around the edges but it was nothing too bad. The bacon was much easier, he could leave that to crisp while he took the time to make a complimentary cup of tea with just a smidge of honey and soon enough there was a basic fry up on the plate and John couldn’t help the smile that took over his face. He didn’t wait around for long however, knowing how impossibly cold a fry up could become in a matter of minutes. Just as he put everything on the tray, there was a small knock on the front door and in came Mrs.Hudson. Usually John was more than happy to see their darling landlord pop her head in to the flat, however he knew he was on a timer. “Mrs.Hudson, how are you doing?” he asked cheerily, continuing what he was doing. 

“Oh you know dear, same thing different day. How are you? I see you’ve made quite the breakfast” she commented, smiling away as she always did. 

“Yeah well it’s not for me Mrs.H. I figured Sherlock could do with having something to eat for a change” he said with an involuntary smile. It’s something John had noticed some time ago, when he spoke about Sherlock, a smile would always creep up the sides of his lips before he could do anything to stop it. It used to bother him, these days it didn’t though. 

“You’d think that man runs on air, honestly. I’m glad he has a good man like you looking after him, anyway, I won’t keep you, just wanted to check in. Ta ta” she said before disappearing back out of the flat. 

Shaking his head, John smiled fondly as he saw the door shut, he knew it was foolish but it was almost like having a mother around sometimes. Most people would probably find it irritating, but John never did, he found it rather lovely and he always thought about the time before he lived here. The main thing he thought about was how glad he was that Sherlock had someone to look out for him even then. Although Sherlock Holmes was a great man and a genius at the least, he did seem to be incapable of taking care of his transport for extended periods. If it wasn’t for his brother, his landlady and a few good friends, John was sure Sherlock would have perished long ago from malnutrition, dehydration or some other self inflicted state. Rolling his eyes at the thought of Sherlock’s inability to survive like the rest of the human race, John headed upstairs with the tray in hand, pausing briefly to calm his sudden nerves as their boiled up in the pit of his stomach before knocking on Sherlock’s door. This, this right here was the start of something new. John just hoped more than anything that as the day went on it would show whether or not they could make a whole new chapter of their relationship work or whether it would all come crumbling down around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays lately, life is a little in the way but I will continue to update this when I can. 
> 
> The relationship starts here ladies and gentlemen, I hope you are enjoying things so far. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	12. Ring around the Rosies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A regular date? I don’t think so. How does a Russian drug ring sound?

In the eyes of most, listening in to other people’s conversations and activities would be considered as rude and unacceptable, to Sherlock this was not the case. He found that he was far more capable of understanding others by observing rather than getting to know them the traditional way. He listened to all of John’s manic clattering around the kitchen and heard Mrs.Hudson paying them her usual visit just to check in. Sometimes that woman seemed more of a mother figure than a landlady. It was odd, thinking back on it, Sherlock appreciated her far more than his own mother. Despite all of his indiscretions and the drugs and the cases, Mrs.Hudson was always there, the pillar of 221b. Smiling to himself, Sherlock found he had gotten distracted in his own thoughts before his heard a surprising sound, a knock on the door. Oddly enough, that sound made him panic, he even jumped slightly. Why was he suddenly nervous? That was odd. It was just John, not some maniacal killer or lunatic, yet he felt fear. What could it be? He hadn’t done anything wrong, nor was he hiding any secrets, he was dressed and laying in bed, yet a cold sweat broke out on his brow and his heart rate increased noticeably. Frustrated, he reached up and ruffled his hair vigorously, hoping to calm himself a little. Sitting up, he shuffled back to rest comfortably before calling out, “Come in”. The door swung open slowly and Sherlock calmed instantly at the sight of his blogger, shuffling in a little clumsily with a tray of breakfast. The nervous smile on his face made Sherlock’s chest tighten a little and the compulsion to comfort the man stirred in him. “You made breakfast” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

“I did, you haven’t eaten in two days, no point of you collapsing on a case when it can be prevented” John said simply, placing the tray on the edge of the bed. 

“Am I to assume that since things are changing you are going to become the worried housewife?” Sherlock said without thinking, there was a little more harshness lacing his tone than intended. Looking up, he saw the brief wince on John’s face before it was masked by a smile. 

“Oi you berk! I was just doing something nice. I won’t bother in future if it bothers you so much” the blonde quipped, backing off a step or two and clasping his hands behind his back. 

Posture change. Soldier. Defensive. Not good. Taking the tray, Sherlock set it on his lap and began to eat without a second thought. No, he wasn’t hungry, but he would be damned if he was going to outright ruin this because of his big mouth. Oddly enough, he wanted whatever was growing between them to flourish properly., that couldn’t happen if he began by putting everything down instantly. “Thank you, John” he said after finishing a mouthful of egg. It was nice granted, who could deny a good fry up in the morning? It certainly beat having cereal or just toast because he was in a rush. 

John smiled a little more genuinely, “You’re welcome. I’ll uh… I’ll see you downstairs” he said before backing out of the room and heading off. He knew he would be analysed for it but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he got his head together. It seemed strange to him, the fact that what Sherlock said had stung, the fact that when he went in, the first thing he wanted to do was say good morning, hand Sherlock his breakfast and kiss his forehead. He knew it wasn’t an option just yet but that little though was enough to bring the smile back to his face. He knew it was a while away yet, but he couldn’t wait to build something real with this man, this crazy detective… his crazy detective. Heading to his room, John pulled on his shirt, the buttons were a bit more difficult to do up that they used to be but he would worry about that later. The beige jumper was his warm and cozy choice for today, followed by a pair of comfortable jeans. He knew he should probably dress up, but even if he did, he knew he would look foolish in fancy clothes that didn’t fit, plus there was very little point in trying to impress the great Sherlock Holmes, he would be ripped to shreds in seconds. That was going to be the hardest part about all of this, what would John do that could possibly impress such a man, after all, he hadn’t been with a man since the was in the army, even that wouldn’t have helped him now. Shaking those thoughts away, John headed into the bathroom to freshen up before going to his usual place in the living room and settling down with his laptop to go through the emails and case files he had been sent. Since it was a date day, he decided that this case needed to be at least an 8 to make it worthwhile. ‘Bingo’ he though, scanning through the topmost file. 

For once, Sherlock ate all of the food on his place. He felt a little nauseous but that couldn’t be helped, his body was hardly used to large portions. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself out of the bed to get ready for the day. It never took him too long to get ready, his clothes all neatly arranged in their drawers. Soon enough he was heading to the living room in his favourite purple shirt and tight dress pants, they felt a little tighter today but he was sure that was simply his imagination at this point. When he reached the living room, he felt the usual warmth in his chest upon seeing John sitting in his usual spot. It was a simple sight, one that might go unappreciated by most but Sherlock, it was one of the most important sights these days. Since the day he jumped off of that roof, he had spent so long away from 221b and the pleasant sight of his friend sitting in that chair was once of the few things that kept him going. Knowing John was safe, that was what had been important at the time and even now, that remained true. Before he could say a word, John’s gaze had snapped up from his computer and he was looking at Sherlock with a grin.

“How does a supposed mass suicide of a known drug ring sound?” John practically chirped. 

“Go on” Sherlock drawled in his usual toner, trying to appear uninterested. 

“Six members of a known drug ring that operate on the south side of the capital were all found dressed in red, laid out in a literal ring with a bullet wound in each of their temples. Very little blood was found by the bodies though, maybe enough for one or two people, not for six... “ he trailed off. “Anyway, they are investigating the scene now, it was only discovered an hour ago, it’s in an underground parking lot near Kennington if you want to take a look?” he probed, closing his laptop and sitting back. 

Mass suicide of a known and successful drug ring, that seemed unlikely. Sherlock felt his interest peak but then he curbed it and looked at John, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes slightly, “I thought you wanted to have a date today?”

“I do. But you're not the sort of man who will just sit back and relax for the day, are you?” he asked with a small smirk. 

Sherlock went to argue but stopped, John was right, “Well then… let’s go” he said, grabbing his coat.   
John followed briskly, grabbing his own coat just in case. The weather had been starting to turn towards the autumn season and he didn’t really fancy getting soaked by another of Britain’s temperamental rainstorms. As they headed out, they shouted their farewells to Mrs.Hudson and Sherlock did his usual miracle of hailing a cab without any difficulty. John never bothered to try anymore, cabbies always seemed to ignore him, Sherlock however had a serious presence and could get people to flock to him at will. At the same time however, if the detective wanted to go unnoticed, he did. He was really a miraculous man, so tall and striking yet when he wanted to be, he could be utterly invisible and blend in with the crowds around him. Suddenly, John realized he was staring just a little and he looked away, taking a brief glance back before the cabbie pulled up. He gave the address and they climbed into the car before they were off. John never expected that a few hours later they would be running for their lives with a scorned drug lord screaming at them in Russian. Turns out, the murders were staged as a suicide but they were all due to a misunderstanding between the two rings regarding turf and dealers. The leader of the Black Plague gang had decided to get creative, leaving the other gang on the floor in a ring as homage to the well known nursery rhyme, ‘Ring around the rosies’. It was morbid to think that for all these years young children sung about the death of the hundreds at the hands of a plague that swept the nation, but that was hardly the concern now. As they bolted through the alleys, Sherlock running ahead, john found himself snapping back to reality and speeding up, only to be stopped as the detective grabbed his hand and pulled him into a small broken crevice in the alley wall from where a derelict building was falling to ruin. The gap was small and they shuffled in before finding themselves pressed chest to chest, breathing heavily and listening to the sounds in the alley. John could heard him, the Russian, bolting full pelt down the alley as he looked for them. Looking up, John saw Sherlock was not looking at they alley, but at him, panting and smiling. 

“3, 2, 1…” the detective whispered, then there was a crash as the man clearly lost his patience and smashed a nearby window. 

“How did you know?” John whispered in awe.

“Easy, he was swearing like a sailor and lost his targets” he said with a smile. “Plus the police will have him right about…. Now” Sherlock smirked as the blue lights filled the alley and flickered at the entrance to their crevice. 

John let out a breathy laugh and looked out to see police filing past with their guns in position before he looked back to Sherlock who for some reason hadn’t taken his eyes off of him, “Is something wrong?” he asked, only to be stunned a moment later as Sherlock reached a hand up and cupped his cheek, running his thumb over the bone there.

“He hit you, earlier. It’s bruising” Sherlock mused. 

John thought back on it and remembered, rolling his eyes, “It’s not that bad I’m sure.” However when he thought on it, they guy had gotten a pretty good swing in. When they had been searching the location, Sherlock had spotted a number of clues that had lead them to where they were now. On their search, the gang had ambushed them, granted there were only four of them at the time but they certainly got a good few hits in before they were subdued by police and Sherlock had taken off again. John had taken it upon himself to get the burly bloke off of Sherlock but had gotten a blow across the face for his troubles, at the time he hadn’t paid much mind to it, now however the area was warm and throbbing slightly, not that it mattered to him now. Right now, at this moment, only one thing mattered, “Sherlock?” 

Upon seeing the marks on John’s face, Sherlock felt a swell of anger towards the gang and wished a slow and torturous death upon each and every one of them, however he was quickly brought back to the reality of the situation when he paid attention to the warmth of John’s cheek, the dilation of his pupils, the way his lips were slightly parted and his heart rate increased under the touch. Signs. All of them were signs of… No. Blinking rapidly, Sherlock snapped out of whatever trance he had been in and let his hand drop away. He couldn’t do this, not here, not now. Before he knew what he was doing , the detective had shuffled quickly out of the crevice, walking briskly towards the DI who was on the scene by this point. His heart was pounding and he panicked slightly, never before had his body had such a profound effect on his mind. He had little things here and there in the past, times where he had walked in when John was shirtless after a shower, times when they had to hold hands and run for their lives, the times he fell asleep in John’s room… Shaking his head, he brushed that aside and decided to get the remainder of the information regarding the ring to the police while he got his thoughts together. 

When Sherlock bolted, John felt disappointed but what more had he expected? This was Sherlock, if he spooked him, the man would run without a doubt. Relationships were not his area and this would have to be approached logically, not romantically. Straightening himself out, John followed at a distance and stood back as Sherlock worked things out with the police before gesturing that they could leave. As they clambered into another cab, John reached over and laid his hand over Sherlock’s gently, “You were pretty damn amazing today” he commented, “That Russian sure had a flare for the dramatic didn’t he? Too bad you were on the case, no one else would have noticed” He watched as Sherlock looked at their hands and back to john with a small smile, a grateful smile if anything. John knew he would feel bad for running, but he wasn’t about to let that happen. “How about we stick on some crap telly tonight? I think we could do with the break.” 

Sherlock was grateful for John’s attempt to keep him relaxed and he simply nodded, not trusting his own voice at that particular moment. He felt the adrenaline from the case, the ache in his muscles from the run, the pounding in his chest from the emotional aspect. It was a lot to take in. Carefully, he decided to try something. Normally it would be an act he would consider foolish or pointless, but if he wasn’t willing to do somethings for John, this would never work. Spreading the fingers on his right hand, Sherlock adjusted the position just enough so that John’s fingers slotted neatly between his own. A simple gesture but one that felt appropriate, granted it was different to say the least, but it wasn’t bad. Actually, it was calming. Immediately he noticed the way in which his mind went quiet and his thoughts diverted from the work and went to John. This was an effect he had felt before, especially at times they had been involved in physical contact in the past.. Looking up, he saw John’s features soften and his lips smiling back at him and something similar to hope fluttered in his chest. This could work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get a bit of catch up done, hope you like it. 
> 
> Thanks for keeping up with it :)


	13. Kiss me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing John doesn’t know, Sherlock is no blushing virgin and he certainly doesn’t need to be treated like glass.

They held hands all the way back to the flat before they had to part in order to exit the vehicle. John found himself paying as per usual and he turned, expecting to find Sherlock gone already only to find him still right there. Confused, John went to question him only to see Sherlock holding his hand slightly forward, ‘Oh…. right’ John thought to himself, reaching out and retaking Sherlock’s thin and slightly trembling hand. The detective certainly wasn’t cold to the touch and John was surprised that he was nervous enough that his transport was reacting to it. Gently, he gave the taller man’s hand a squeeze and lead the way into the flat. Luckily Mrs.Hudson was asleep by this point so they were able to go upstairs undetected, although they wouldn’t mind her knowing in general, after the weeks of shear stress behind them, they really didn’t want to open that can of worms just yet. John let go of Sherlock’s hand just momentarily so that they could get their coats off, before taking hold again, “Come sit down Sherlock” he said softly, tugging the detective towards the sofa and plopping himself down, watching the taller man fall beside him like a tree. Releasing the grip once more, John made a bit of a bolder move, reaching his arm up and around Sherlock’s thin shoulders, pulling him in closer, “How’s this?” he asked, not wanting to push too fast

Sherlock tried momentarily to compute what was happening but he failed for a few moments before he was capable of processing it. John being so close was stunning, he missed the warmth of the other’s body from those nights they had spent at each other's sides. He missed the smell, the comfort and the safety of being in his blogger’s arms. “I like it” he commented, leaning into the touch and resting his head on John’s shoulder. That was better. He could easily get used to this after a tough case. His mind slid into a comfortable quiet as his body relaxed. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as complicated as he had first anticipated, oddly enough this sort of behaviour had once repelled him and yet now, Sherlock found himself in a state of contentment due to it all. He could think into the psychological reasons for that later on, right now however, he was happy to simply rest there and let his thoughts fal away until nothing was left but John. 

Feeling Sherlock relaxing against him, John felt a smile at the corner of his own lips. It seemed odd, but after those nights they had spent beside each other, it was nice to feel the comforting sensation of Sherlock at his side again. Gently, John tilted his head to the side, resting it atop of Sherlock’s soft curls. Sometimes John found himself wondering how the detective kept his hair so perfect all the time, after all personal hygiene and self-maintenance were hardly his strong point were they? But that didn’t matter right now, all that mattered was how perfect the moment was. 

“John, I just want you to know, you don’t have to be so careful with me. I appreciate the sentiment but for once, I think it would be best if you simply lead me in the right direction. If I don’t like it, you will be sure to know.” Sherlock decided it was best to point this out now. He had to admit, this careful and considerate side of John was something he indeed found to be endearing in a way, however if it carried on too long he knew it would become tedious. It was a personal gripe of his, being treated as though he were some fragile child, incapable of grasping the concept of things. It reminded him all too much of how Mycroft had treated him all of his life and he was certainly not going to let anyone else do that to him ever again. “After all, it isn’t as though I have never had any romantic encounters before, be they falsified for a case or real…” he trailed off, remembering the odd few encounters in the back of his mind. Back when Sherlock found himself in a dark place, his mind addled by drugs and his hazy vision making the world a tolerable sight, people had managed to lure him in. The nights had always been short and a blur but luckily, despite his discrepancies, he had come out of it all clean and clear. Sitting upright, he turned to John and looked over the blonde carefully. Without the influence of various substances, all of this was more terrifying and if he were alone now in a dingy alley with some stranger, he would be bricking it. This was different though, this wasn’t a fear of dangerous sex under the influence, this was a whole new fear. A fear of opening up to a world intimacy that he had never known. “Kiss me” he said after a moment of internal deliberation. 

As Sherlock spoke, John found himself snapping back to reality, he had gotten lost in thought as he wondered what sort of experiences the great detective had. “Oh… right um... “ John pulled himself together quickly, but this felt odd. Usually when he kissed people there was a mood… an atmosphere… something. He had never been in a situation during which he was just commanded like this. Reaching up, he lightly cupped Sherlock’s thin cheek, avoiding the new bruising that was forming and leant in close. He tried to calm himself a little but for some reason he felt like his every move was being scrutinized and it made it rather difficult to enjoy the moment. He hesitated and that was when he felt Sherlock’s frustrated sigh before the other man shifted away, a grumpy expression on his face. John was left a little stunned and he tilted his head curiously.

“For God’s sake John this is tedious! Either kiss me or don’t but for the love of all things Holy, quit this nervous behaviour! You can shag every woman you pull back here on a drunken night out but apparently you are entirely incapable of making a relationship with me the least bit intimate without some constant stream of consent? Is that it? Do I have to approve everything and sit back like some inexperienced chi-...” The next thing Sherlock knew was that he was laying on his back on the sofa, John was straddled over the top of him, hands rested on the sofa either side of his head. Stunned, Sherlock couldn’t even bring himself to speak before John leant down and claimed his lips. The kiss was more than just a kiss, it was like he was being claimed. John’s lips were firm and strong against his own and the way he had moved with such confidence had left Sherlock pliant below him. Moments went by before Sherlock had the ability to bring himself back from the various reaches of his mind, when he did however, he moved himself a little and managed to reach up and wrap his arms around John, pulling him closer. The feeling surging through him was electrifying, it made all of his nerves tingle and as quickly as it had started, John pulled back and smiled down at him. 

“Better?” he asked with a smug smirk. Seeing Sherlock like this was a whole new sight for John, the detective was laying beneath him with a stunned look slapped across his face. His cheeks were pink, his eyes were blown wide and his lips were slightly parted, like he had forgotten how to close them. Smiling just a little less smuggly, John climbed off of him and plopped himself down in his own armchair. Surprisingly, Sherlock followed, John went to ask him what he was doing but before he could do so, Sherlock straddled his lap and crashed their lips together again. It was a shock to say the least but John didn’t hesitate this time, oh no. Instead, he wrapped one arm around the detective’s ever so skinny waist to hold him steady and reached up with the other, catching hold of the back of Sherlock’s head and revelling in the soft gasp that fell from his lips. Taking the opportunity, John couldn’t help but nip at that plump bottom lip and the sound Sherlock made was something John never imagined he would hear. A moan. A soft and breathy moan, one that was far quieter than he had ever dared to imagine. He had always pictured Sherlock’s moans to be deep, enriched by his usual baritone but this… this was soft, delicate even, nothing like he pictured but John was by no means disappointed by what he heard. “Jesus Sherlock….” he whispered before claiming those soft cupid bow lips for the second time.

The sensations running through Sherlock’s mind and body alike were explosive to say the least, he had never felt anything like this in all of the years he had walked thought this dull plain of existence. Normally the world was full of constant prattle supplied by idiots that were inefficient, lazy and self destructive, not to mention stupid on the best of days. It was maddening. Normally Sherlock found his mind wandering in a million different directions and wielding no results or excitement, now however was a different story. Now, Sherlock was here on John’s lap and all of the world had faded away, it was him and his blogger, things had never felt so perfect. Before his mind dared to wander off again, Sherlock decided to lock it in place and focused back on John’s warm body below him, his lips pressed against his own and the feeling of those strong arms looking him in place, it was enough to draw a variety of small involuntary sounds from his throat. Despite his best efforts, a blush rose on his cheeks and he felt himself get embarrassed for a moment but that quickly faded when he pulled back just a little bit to see the flush on his blogger’s own face. John looked gorgeous to say the least, his lips tinted red from the action, his pupils blown wide, the look on his face in general… a look that made Sherlock feel he was about to be eaten alive. “John…” he breathed, stunned by the sight of his usually composed and neat companion. 

Despite the fact John knew he could easily continue right now, he decided against it. Releasing his firm hold on the detective, John smiled up at him softly, his lust being pushed to the back of his mind. He wanted more, so so so much more, but that could wait, they had time. After all, they had danced around each other for all of these years, what difference would a little more delay make? “You are incredible, Sherlock Holmes” he said with utter conviction. 

“Hardly, you are the driving force behind this… I didn’t think… well… I’m glad I pushed you if that’s the result” Sherlock said with another forming blush making its way onto his cheeks.

“Oh really… Well you seem to like someone else being in control…” John hummed, teasingly running a hand up into Sherlock’s curls and tugging lightly, revelling in the way the detective’s head lolled back into the touch.

“I suppose… would that be an issue?” he asked, looking to John warily. From previous research he found that a lot of men actually quite liked being with a dominant male, John however didn’t exactly seem submissive.

“Not at all.” John assured him, “”I was wondering, it’s getting late and I fancy getting some sleep tonight, would you like to sleep in my room?” He offered, it was a shot in the dark but this evening had been rather wonderful and he didn’t really like the idea of losing the contact with his lover.

“Oh… That would be nice, yes.” Sherlock spoke slowly, thinking back to the nights they had spent together and cringing a little bit when he remembered his back. Shaking it off, he smiled and removed himself from John’s lap, “I’ll be there in a few minutes” he stated before heading to his room to get changed. He knew John would most likely see the state of him plenty of times in the future, but he just didn’t want to ruin right now with his past. With that in mind, Sherlock pulled on a pyjama top and matching bottoms before heading to John’s room. When he got there, he went to walk in but paused, relenting to social politeness and knocking instead. “John?” he called.

John had retreated to his room and pulled on a pyjama set of his own, clambering into bed and feeling nothing but sheer joy after the events of the evening. This could definitely work out. Soon enough he heard Sherlock’s knocn and his voice… odd, usually Sherlock would simply barge into his room. He decided not to over analyse it and called back, “Come in”. When he saw Sherlock step in, A small half-smile rose on his lips and he lifted the bedding beside him, patting the mattress with his free hand, “Come on you”

Sherlock got into the bed expecting to feel some kind of unease at least at first, but there was none. He looked over to John who had now laid back and had one arm extended to his side, clearly waiting for Sherlock to cuddle up to him for the night. Smiling, Sherlock laid down in John’s arms and rested his head on the other’s shoulder. “Goodnight John” he said softly, closing his eyes.

Reaching over, John turned off the lamp on his bedside table before wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s thin torso, “Goodnight Sherlock, I love you” he whispered, gently kissing the top of Sherlock’s head before he felt the need to sleep begin to overwhelm him. 

“I love you too”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are settling down so time for more updates :)
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy this chapter.


	14. Morning Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up and after last night, the morning brings new challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are starting to get to the good stuff but pre-warning, NSFW content in this chapter and the following one. Enjoy!

By the time morning came around, John was awake as always, greeting the sun with a soft smile on his lips. He had slept without an issue and awoke with the still warmth of a sleeping Sherlock at his side. Honestly, how could life be any better than it was at this moment? While the detective slept soundly, John took the time to contemplate on just how things had gone thus far. Considering he had never believed that this sort of thing could become a possibility, it was somewhat incredible to him that this is the way in which their life had come to be. So many people looked at Sherlock with lust, desire, longing and in the case of many, love and adoration but in all the years John had known him, he had never reciprocated the looks back with anything other than disdain, disgust or disinterest. So many people had come to love the man in so many ways and in a way, despite his own affections for Sherlock and the joy he had now being his romantic partner, John had always found himself feeling sorry for the many men and women Sherlock had thrown aside with no tact or care in the past. He had watched people get their hearts broken time and time again, it was quite a depressing sight. Molly Hooper was a fantastic example. Sighing, John’s smile fell as he remembered the various expressions of pain on her face when Sherlock turned her down on the regular, insulted her, forgot about her and the look that flickered in her eyes at the sound of the many unintentionally cruel things he said to her. The one memory that stood out most of all was that Christmas party they had in the flat. The way Sherlock had hurt Molly so badly it speared the hearts of everyone in the room, even his own. He had been sarcastic, spiteful and hypercritical of her appearance yet again and she had just snapped…. Molly Hooper was not a woman who snapped easily people considered her often to be weak, timid and a little ditzy to say the very least but that wasn’t the case really, she was patient, considerate, compassionate and empathetic. Considering the cold and unfeeling nature of the world these days, it was people like Molly Hooper who reminded those around them that it was alright to feel something from time to time. Looking down at the sleeping man in his arms, John shook his head slightly, ‘Even if they had been a couple, he would never treat her the way she wants… there’s only one woman on par with Sherlock Holmes and she’s long gone’ he thought, a pang of jealousy going off in his stomach at the mere memory of a certain Miss Irene Adler. That woman had swooped into their lives and nearly stolen Sherlock right out from under him. Granted John had never revealed his affections at the time and would have had absolutely no right to protest the union but by God he wanted to. Shaking the memory away, John pulled Sherlock in closer and pressed a small kiss to his forehead. The world’s only consulting detective was his now and if they made this work, that is how it would stay.

After a long while. Sherlock found himself waking up, groaning as he attempted to open his eyes and was blinded by the light that leaked into the room. He went to burrow his face into his pillow but was briefly startled to find himself burrowing into something warm and squishy instead. Breathing in, he suddenly remembered he had gone to bed with John last night and he went to back away a little, embarrassed by his own forgetfulness. Apparently John was having none of it however because as soon as he went to move away, the army-man’s pulled him back in, “Running away already?” came the husky morning voice just above him. The sound of John’s voice in the morning… it made him shudder slightly but not in a bad way. 

Looking up, Sherlock smiled a little, “Not at all. Did you sleep well?” he asked, bringing a hand up and resting it on John’s chest. 

“Remarkably, sleeping with you seems to relax me” John said with a slight blush. 

Smiling wider, Sherlock pulled himself up a little on the bed, “I think I can say the same, usually falling asleep can take me hours but with you I don’t seem to remember drifting off at all.” he said, thoughtfully. 

John sported a smile of his own and leaned over, kissing Sherlock’s lips softly, “I’m glad.” he said, his heart fluttering just a little at the contact.

Sherlock stretched upwards, revelling in the way it felt first thing in the morning however as he did so, the blankets shifted and he felt his cheeks take on a scarlet hue as a tent was made in his lap. He went to move, hoping John wouldn’t notice, despite the fact he knew it was a regular reaction in the morning, but to his dismay as he looked at his partner he knew exactly what his eyes had fallen upon. “I um….”

 

John swallowed, his eyes had glanced across to Sherlock as he stretched and had landed on the obvious protrusion in his lap. He knew he should look away, of course he should but how could he? At that moment, all he wanted was to move closer to the detective, take the opportunity while his arms were up to straddle his lap, grab his wrists and pin him to the bed. He would kiss those lips with the hunger that rolled through his entire being, take the plunge and go all out. In a way he found it odd that he wanted that, after all he hadn’t exactly been attracted to a man in such a way in a long long time but now… Shaking his head a little in the attempt to clear his mind, he looked up to Sherlock’s panicked grey eyes and smiled, “It’s alright, it’s all fine ok?” he said gently. 

When John finally broke the silence, Sherlock found himself feeling a sense of relief. Despite his enthusiasm the other night, he didn’t know if he was quite capable of getting involved in a random morning shag just yet. He shifted and found himself slightly at a loss for words but luckily, John took control swiftly. 

“Hey, are you hungry?” he asked, sensing Sherlock’s slight shutdown. He had managed to suppress his own arousal for the time being, although his own erection hadn’t quite faded. Seeing the detective shake his head, John rolled his eyes, “Alright well I am so I’ll see you in a bit” he said calmly, leaning forward and lightly pecking Sherlock’s cheek before heading out of the bedroom. He had every intention of having something to eat, as soon as he had sorted something far more pressing out. Hurtling into the bathroom, John made sure to lock the door behind him instantly. As quickly as he had gotten himself in the room, his pyjama bottoms had hit the floor and he rested his head back against the door. Despite being able to stop the heat of his arousal from clouding his self control a few moments ago, his restraint was only as good as the next mans. Without a moment of hesitation, John reached down and took himself in hand, biting his lip a little to keep any sounds from escaping as he began to stroke himself slow but firmly. For a moment, he cursed himself for not grabbing his lotion or something along the way but that didn’t matter as his mind began to wander after a few seconds and he felt his fantasies creeping their way in. Sherlock… laying face down on the bed, his wrists tied to the frame and a blindfold covering those intense eyes. His knees are bent and spread apart, exposing him and leaving him entirely vulnerable to whatever comes his way both literally and figuratively. The thought made John harder under his own touch and he gasped as he ran his thumb over the head, holding back a hum as he imagined moving up to the bed and running the head of his swollen cock over Sherlock’s puckered entrance, wondering what noise he would make. Would he be vocal in bed? Would he submit entirely like this? Now wasn’t the time to consider it. Focusing on his imagination, John gripped his cock more tightly and thrusted into his fist in time with his mind, picturing himself forcing his way into that little pucker and claiming Sherlock as his own. A soft moan managed to escape him but he didn’t care, he began to thrust into his hand and felt pleasure building as he thought of the many different noises that could come from the detective as he took John’s cock to the base. John thrusted faster, his breathing picking up but before he could even get himself close, there was a knock at the door. John groaned quietly, stopping his ministrations for a moment to answer, “Yes?” 

“John, I need to come in” Sherlock called from the other side of the door. 

“Well you can when I’ve finished” John sighed, “I’m sure you can wait a minute”

“I’d rather come in now… if you’ll let me” the detective said a little quieter.

That stopped John in his tracks, for a moment he had to pause and let his mind catch up with what was going on. Was Sherlock suggesting…? No, no he couldn't be, he clearly wasn’t ready for anything quite that sexual and that was fine but… what was he doing otherwise? Curious, John pulled his pants up off the floor and cracked the door open only to be immediately pushed back. The next thing he knew, Sherlock was in the room and had shut the door behind him. “Sherlock, what the hell?” he asked, stunned by the other’s actions. 

“I was thinking and it was clear that both you and I require some form of stimulus. You’re chivalrous attempts to cover your own arousal didn’t go unnoticed John, but after thinking it through and hearing your attempts to cover your own activities, I thought it best to try something spontaneous.” he concluded, blushing ever so slightly at his own proposition. 

John stood there for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what game Sherlock was playing at. It didn’t take long for him to realise however that Sherlock was hardly in the mindset to play games, anyone who knew the detective could tell that when it came down to certain topics, he was far less likely to joke around. “Well if that’s the case, how about we go back to the bedroom?” he suggested. 

Nodding, Sherlock retreated out of the bathroom and waited for John to take the lead. Despite his bold proposition, he still found himself out of his element. Yes, he wanted this in every way, but it was something that threw his usual calm attitude straight out of the window. He was brought out of his thoughts by John who had at this point taken hold of his hand and was smiling at him. Somehow, that smile eased the tension in the air and Sherlock found himself following John to the bedroom. In a way, what he expected wasn’t what he got. Considering past experience, he assumed that upon their arrival to the room, John would simply push him down on the bed and claim him, spilling inside before getting on with the rest of his day. Crude as that was, it was hardly an abnormality for some people. He didn’t even notice John had let go of his hand as he went to remove his pyjamas. 

“Whoa whoa slow down Sherlock” John said quickly, taking hold of the other’s hand once more. “There’s no race ok?” he assured. Seeing the confusion dawn in those beautiful eyes, John decided words wouldn’t be good enough. Despite his desire to plow Sherlock’s fine arse on every surface of the flat, he didn’t want things to just be purely based on lust like that. Deciding that actions would be more appropriate than words, John moved his free hand to Sherlock’s shoulder and guided him backwards until the detective had his back against the wall. Raising himself to his tiptoes, John closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to those cupid-bow lips, humming a little at the contact. One thing was certain, if they were going to do anything, they were going to do it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me as I write. Apologies for the inconsistency. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter.


	15. What more could he ask for?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two come together in new ways and it is a little more than unexpected.

When Sherlock had marched himself into that bathroom, the last thing he had expected was for John to take control in such a manner, let alone to not simply claim him where he stood. From the past, Sherlock had never experienced anyone capable of restraint and patience. It was clear that John wanted him, the erection jutting up underneath the thin material of his pyjamas was more than enough proof of that, however he was holding himself back and taking everything at a far slower pace than anticipated. In his mind palace, he had predicted that upon his proposition, John would have had a moment of hesitation as always, before taking advantage of the change in Sherlock’s mind and shagging him senseless. Instead, Sherlock now stood with his back against the bedroom wall with John claiming his lips in a gentle yet assured kiss, his warm hands rested on his waist and their bodies pressed together. He was hardly about to complain, it was actually rather pleasant, but it was a little disconcerting. “I thought you wanted sex?” he blurted out, going a little wide eyed when he realized what had tumbled from his mouth. 

John was a little startled by Sherlock breaking the kiss, even more so by what he broke it to say. The shock didn’t last however and John sighed, smiling a little sadly up at the confused man before him, “I do, God I do, but sex doesn’t mean just doing something for the hell of it Sherlock. In the past, has no one ever bothered with a build up? Foreplay? Things like that?” he asked, a little concerned to hear the answer. 

Blinking a few times, Sherlock shook his head, “No, why would anyone bother with that? It is a waste of time surely? After all, it doesn’t change the act itself and it doesn’t bring either of the participants to climax so why bother?” he said bluntly. 

Frowning, John felt anger rise up inside of his chest at the thought of people using his partner in such a way. Those people had made him believe that sex was nothing but an act for orgasm, which made him wonder if Sherlock had ever even so much as shared an actual bonding sexual experience with anyone. Considering the way he spoke about it and what he had just told him, John doubted it very much. “Perhaps you could let me show you?” he offered after a moment of calming himself. Those assholes that used Sherlock in the past were no longer around and John would be damned if he allowed their very existence to ruin anything between himself and Sherlock now. 

Raising an eyebrow quizzically, Sherlock looked over John’s expression. For a moment, he noticed the doctor had gotten enraged but for the life of him he couldn't understand why. He knew that logically the rage was not directed at him, but if not him then who? Before he could think too deeply on the matter, John was asking him something and he had to pull himself from the entrance of his mind palace, now was not the time for deep thought. “If you would like to” he agreed, not overly enthusiastic about the concept. At least they had no cases at the moment, the new experience would kill time. 

Smiling a little, John took Sherlock’s hand and led him to the bed. “Lay down for me love” he instructed gently as he went to the other side and knelt on the mattress. 

“How can I do anything if I’m lying down fully clothed?” Sherlock asked, obeying John’s instruction regardless. 

“You don’t have to do anything, that’s the good part.” John whispered. Leaning down, John pressed his lips lightly to Sherlock’s, it was nothing but a brief peck to begin with, but slowly, John deepened the kiss. Using one hand to balance himself on the mattress and the other to cup Sherlock’s cheek, John hummed and using his tongue, parted Sherlock’s soft lips and began to carefully explore. It didn’t take long for things to pick up, Sherlock was a little hesitant to start with but soon enough John noticed him becoming far more receptive and responsive. He found himself smiling into the kiss when he felt the detective reach up and cup his cheek, the other hand moving up to grip the back of his hair. 

Sherlock found himself getting lost in the kiss. His mind went nearly blank and his eyes fell shut at the feeling of John’s tongue against his own. It was somewhat astounding that the blonde has this ability to simply rob him of his thoughts and attention, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. Instead, Sherlock reached up to cup the slightly rough side of John’s cheek and used his free hand to run up to the back of John’s head, pulling him in a little and gripping the short hair there. Time seemed to fade away but before he could comment on it, John backed away a little. Sherlock went to protest this but the next thing he knew, John’s lips were against his neck and a moan escaped him before he could even think to suppress it. The contact sent sparks of electricity through his system and he arched slightly off of the bed. There was a certain spot on his neck that felt remarkably sensitive and he knew John had noticed this because he went over it a couple of times with soft kisses before all of a sudden he bit down and sucked the area, bruising it lightly. The sensation was indescribable, it sent shocks through Sherlock’s system and caused his cock to harden even more so than it had before. “John…” he gasped, fingers tightening in the other’s hair. 

Delighted by the reaction he got, John pulled back to admire his work. On the side of Sherlock’s ivory pale neck, there was a light purple mark forming. Now as a medical professional, John knew the dangers of hickeys and should have been repulsed by his own negligence but there was just something so deep and primal about marking your partner. Smiling to himself, he leant back down and licked a stripe from Sherlock’s collar bone, up over the mark before teasing lightly at the detective’s ear, giving it a playful nip and whispering, “What is it love?” he asked.

Sherlock shuddered as he felt John lick at his neck, the cool trail left behind making him shiver slightly. It was so hot in the room, well, he thought it was at the very least. “I… you… nevermind” he stammered. Stammering, that was a new one. John has managed to reduce him to this after some simple kissing? 

Taking advantage of Sherlock’s lack of witty remarks, John repositioned himself so that he was now kneeling between Sherlock’s legs. Looking down at him, John couldn’t help but gawk just a little bit. The detective was absolutely beautiful, laying there with his lips pink, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide. Every bone in his body was screaming at him to just take Sherlock there and then but he knew that wasn't what he really wanted. Instead he leaned forward, claiming those lips yet again all the while reaching down and gently rubbing at Sherlock's clearly interested crotch. A gasp came from the brunette and John backed up for a moment to look at him, despite the sound Sherlock didn't look in any way afraid, quite the contrary, he looked more enthusiastic that before. With a smirk, John began to palm rhythmically at the solid bulge beneath the fabric, a small sense of pride coming to his chest as he watched the reactions he was causing. The sight of Sherlock biting his lip to hold back the moans that were clearly threatening to escape was amazing and it only drove John to lose his composure just a little bit and let loose. 

Sherlock was beside himself, the pleasure of seeing and feeling John touching him was more than he could bare. The entire experience was maddening and it was bringing him to the brink of simply letting go of the usual control he had over his transport. He trusted John completely and was more than happy to relinquish himself to him. Closing his eyes, Sherlock went into his mind to analyse all of the sensations he was feeling however before he could even attempt to do that, the next thing he knew his eyes had flown open as John had in one swift moment removed his pyjama bottoms and was now throat deep around his cock. The feeling is explosive, it was as though every other sensation in his entire being had been overwritten by this one individual sensory input. A noise permeated the air, it didn't take Sherlock long to realize it was his own long and wanton moan that had disturbed him. A noise he had never emitted in the past for certain, despite many of the things he had done over his years, nothing even came close to the level of pleasure he was experiencing at this very minute. “Oh John!” He managed to groan, his head falling back as he felt those warm lips slide up his shaft, John's apparently skilled tongue working it's way around and eventually circling the now sensitive head with expert precision. 

The sound Sherlock made when John swallowed him down was extraordinary, he had never heard anything quite like it, it was simply raw pleasure. Considering what Sherlock had told him about previous partners, he couldn't imagine any of them had considered to do such a thing to him, you didn't have to be a detective to see that. From such little physical stimulus, the detective was practically writhing around under John's ministrations. Humming, John trying to focus on the experience, savouring the musky flavour of Sherlock's obvious delight. Since John had fallen to his elbows, it made it impossible for him to pleasure himself in the process but oddly enough he didn't even mind, in all honesty he had barely even thought about it until now. Despite being rock hard himself, John found he was too focused on pleasuring his partner to even care. Enthusiasm stirred inside of him and he sucked Sherlock down, relishing the yelp that came from above. Up, down, up, down, Oh found a comfortable speedy rhythm and kept at it, his mind racing with lust and desire as he tasted the sweet drips of pre-cum oozing onto his tongue. 

By this time, Sherlock was moaning and whimpering wantonly on the bad. His hair was damp with sweat and he found himself unable to do anything but enjoy the sensation of John's firm lips wrapping eagerly around his now pulsing cock. He honestly could remember a time he had been this hard before and it was a surprise from the start. Normally Sherlock found himself more than capable of dealing g with arousal and other such physical issues but this was intense. It was lust in its most raw form and there was not a chance in hell of him ignoring or controlling it. John was now moaning around him and suddenly there was a realization. “John! John I'm going to…” he panted. To late. The pleasure of an orgasm ripped through him before he even had a chance to finish his sentence. Automatically, his hands had flown to John's head without his permission and he shoved himself as far into the doctor's throat as possible. His mouth fell wide and his head was thrown back in a silent scream of sheer ecstasy as he came hard, his seed pulsing out of him in waves. Seconds passed, maybe minutes, he couldn't even tell at this point but it didn't matter. As soon as he was able to get control of his limbs again, Sherlock let go of John's hair and pulled back. The sight before him wasn't one he would soon forget. John was slightly pink in the face, there was a layer of sweat on his brow and his lips were parted and slightly swollen. The good doctor was panting, eyes blown wide and upon looking at his posture, Sherlock could tell that was trying to remain comfortable while leaning on a raging hard-on. Getting his own breath back, Sherlock pulled himself into a more upright position and cleared his throat a little, “I believe it's your turn…” he said quietly, licking his bottom lip suggestively. Despite never receiving a blowjob before, Sherlock had given them, although he wasn't quite sure as to whether or not he should tell John this. Considering his earlier reactions to his past, he thought it would be better to avoid mentioning it just now.

When Sherlock came, John hadn't quite anticipated the reaction and was startled when all of a suddenly he had six inches of cock rammed at full speed down his throat. It took all of his focus and willpower not to gag. It was worth it, the sight of the usually composed detective dropping every pretense and allowing his body to react in abandon was beautiful. Getting his breath back took a little longer that John was willing to admit but in all fairness he realized that he was only going to lose it again in a moment. “Sherlock you don’t h-.... Fuck!” before John could even begin to protest and pull himself fully to his feet, Sherlock Holmes, a man who stood taller than anyone had fallen to his knees and had engulfed his cock with a near impossible amount of perfection. The heat, the moisture, the pressure it was incredible. Before John realized what he was doing, his hands had dropped into Sherlock’s messy curls and he was gripping them lightly, thrusting his hips rhythmically to match the other’s pace. It was bliss, John found himself lost in the moment, looking down at the man he had fallen for so long ago in awe. Oddly enough, when Sherlock’s eyes locked on his own while those cupid bow lips worked their magic, John’s pent up arousal washed over him and he came within seconds, the dam breaking and cum pouring into Sherlock’s magical mouth in a torrent of pleasure. “Christ!” he gasped out, pulling back and feeling himself wanting to cum all over again to the sight of Sherlock Holmes with lips parted, licking up the traces of pleasure that had leaked onto them. Falling to his own knees, John smiled at the brunette and leaned in, kissing him softly before he tried speaking again. “That was….well it was bloody amazing… thank you”

Sherlock hadn’t expected John to tip over the edge so quickly but at the end of the day he knew the other man had been holding pent up sexual frustration for some time so it was understandable. “You’re welcome” He said with a smile, looking over John’s features and cataloguing every new detail there. His cheeks were tinted pink, his were eyes dilated wide, his lips curled up in a blissful smile of his own. It was something quite extraordinary to be honest. In the past, when people had finished they rarely showed any sign of outward pleasure. A grunt, a groan and a smirk was the usual standard of what the detective had seen in his youth. This blatant joy and emotion was something so new but there was one thing he knew, he actually liked it. “Should we go to the cafe for breakfast? I’m… well I’m hungry” he admitted, realizing that was a statement he hadn’t expected to come from him. 

“You? Sherlock Holmes? You’re hungry?” John asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes…” he admitted, not sure why John was looking at him as though he were some form of apparition. 

“Apparently we need to do that every morning then” John chuckled, getting to his feet and holding out his hand.   
“I don’t think I would disagree to that” Sherlock said with a bit of a blush, “Unless there is a case at which point you understan-...” he was cut off by John’s lips against his own. 

“I know Sherlock. Trust me I do. Now come on. There’s a fry up with our names on it!” John chirped. The man of his dreams, a good morning blowjob and fry up… what more could he ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to keep up with this but apparently it will just have to happen as and when I find the time. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with it, I hope you enjoyed the developments.


	16. A Little Hiccup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An almost immediate bump in the non-conventional relationship but what were they to expect? John’s short tempter and Sherlock’s inability to understand social norms was bound to cause some trouble right?

A few weeks went by, nothing unusual happened and certainly nothing noteworthy. Despite the development in their relationship, things in the flat didn’t change a whole lot. John quickly found himself in the same old rut he had been in year in year out: working some days, completing cases on others, getting takeout etcetera. The only difference now seemed to be the occasional sexual intimacy that Sherlock invoked from time to time but that was for experimental purposes John soon found out. It had been a bit of a blow if he was honest, they were laying in bed one morning and Sherlock turned to him stating something along the lines of, ‘John I want to try a new technique. Apparently the victim of the killer had a specific reputation in the local strip clubs for giving a blowjob with a twist. If i can understand its power over the rate at which…’ John had cut him off there and then. This was hardly the romantic relationship he had dreamed of. Storming away, John went into the bathroom and locked the door behind him with a bit more force that was technically necessary. “What did I expect?” he sighed to himself, looking in the mirror at his own disappointed appearance. Any attempt at being romantic for the sake of it seemed to get either brushed aside or rushed along after a while, Sherlock always seemed to find a reason why they couldn’t go out on a date or just cuddle and watch the telly. From an outside perspective, people would probably tell him that he should have expected this, that he should have known things wouldn’t turn out as he had hoped, but for some reason he had foolishly wanted something more than to become further aid on cases. Ok Sherlock warned him, but even then he had someone come to hope that things would be different. Shaking all of the disappointment he could manage to away, John returned to the bedroom to find Sherlock long since gone. Great, who knew what results this would bring along?  
A few hours into his shift that day, John had managed to calm himself down. He knew it would be better to deal with the issues they had later but then he got a message: ‘Case. Come home. -SH’ He stared at the screen in utter disbelief, not even thinking about replying. Normally John was not an easy man to irk, but after the built up frustration of late he couldn’t bring himself to respond. Setting his phone aside, he continued reading the patient file in front of him but before long, his phone beeped again, ‘It’s urgent. -SH’ Rolling his eyes, this time John put his phone down, screen flush to the desk to avoid distraction. A few more minutes passed before another message came, then another and another until John simply grabbed his phone and popped the back cover off, relieving the device of it’s battery before shoving the whole lot in his desk drawer. It was odd really, originally John had been so protective of Sherlock, he had hated being away from him and wanted nothing more than to have a cozy and loving relationship with the only man he had ever loved but right now he just couldn’t be that way. He was tired of constantly being brushed aside and used after all of the drama which lead them to be together. Apparently this wasn’t going to just be a sweet love story like the movies for them. Granted he would still give his life for Sherlock, that would never change, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his job just to rush home and be lectured on the in’s and out’s of a case before watching the brunette bolt away as soon as he got an idea. In all honesty he had never mentioned it but he was walking on thin ice with his job at the moment anyway. Due to his absence on such a regular basis he had been issued a formal warning.  
Patients came and went through the day, most of their cases were remarkably simple and he was sure that some of the more elderly people simply came in for someone to talk to but he couldn’t blame them. The elderly tended to seem forgotten after a certain point and many of them lived alone with no friends nor family to speak of. It wasn’t until the end of his shift that the mundane world of his world crashed away. Upon piecing himself together and restarting his phone, John felt his stomach drop as he saw a multitude of texts pop up:

John I need you. -SH  
Please. -SH  
I know you are angry but it’s not the time. -SH  
I’m sorry. -SH

Sherlock Holmes didn’t simply say he was sorry. “Oh God…” he gasped, jumping up from behind his desk and rushing out of the office, saying his hasty goodbyes to the staff on the way out. “What have you done?” he muttered to himself as he bolted out to catch the first cab he could. The journey home was remarkably tense, John felt his heart racing in his chest. He knew, as did many other people that Sherlock didn’t respond very well to negative emotions and if he had been stewing over what had happened between them all day, who knows what he could have done to numb those feelings? 

Sherlock, I was at work. Are you alright? -JW

A few minutes passed and John tried his best to restrain his need to message over and over again just like Sherlock had earlier. Desperation and panic wouldn’t help him though and he knew that. 

What’s going on? -JW  
Are you at the flat? -JW

No replies came and twenty minutes later he pulled up outside 221b and gave the driver a few notes before darting into the flat without the change. A few pennies were the least of his worries at this point, all that he could think about was the million and one things Sherlock could have done in the time he had been away. “Sherlock?” he called, rushing up the stairs and into the flat. Empty. No one in the living room or in the kitchen. No sound anywhere. “Sherlock?” he called again, hoping maybe he just hadn’t been heard. Dropping his bag by the door, John found himself rushing about the flat, each room being empty except for the bedroom. His bedroom. “Sherlock I know you are in there, open up” he said, relief seeping into his tone. Seconds passed and no sound came out of the room. “Sherlock come on, this isn’t funny. Look I know you were upset earlier and so was I but how about we just take a minute to talk about it eh?” No response. Concerned, John bent down and tried to peer through the keyhole but remembered there was a coat on the back of the door which obscured his view. Sighing, John got down on his knees and looked under the door only to feel his heart drop in his chest. There, on the other side of the door was Sherlock, lying unconscious in the middle of the room. Without a moment of hesitation, John jumped to his feet, trying the handle again, “Sherlock!” he shouted, rattling the handle in frustration. No reply. With that John backed away from the door and charged it without a second thought. Unlike in the movies, the door didn’t just fly open and John groaned as the pain rippled up his shoulder and the door remained in place. Again. Again. Again. No change in the status of the door. Panting, John took another approach, angling himself properly, he took a deep breath and kicked the door by the hinges. Away it came and he had to dive forward to prevent it from landing on the man on the ground. Rushing over, John fell to his knees and rolled Sherlock onto his back only to feel disappointment well in his chest. Upon seeing the brunette locked in a room and sprawled out like a rag doll on the floor, he had thought the worst, thinking maybe he had been attacked, maybe he had suffered a medical emergency of psychological breakdown. No, nothing like that. Under his nose there was a fine white powder residue. Sherlock was out cold, having bloody overdosed himself again. John was utterly disgusted. One problem had arisen and this was the result? Sherlock had dealt with it by locking himself in a bedroom and getting so high he collapsed. Maybe John had taken on more than he could handle. As he looked down at the detective a thought came to mind, a thought he never imagined even for a moment that he would experience. He missed Mary. He missed Sarah. He missed a lot of the women from his past right then and there. Well actually, not them in specific, he missed the ease of having a relationship where you could relax, watch the telly, have a comfy evening shag and go to bed in eachothers arms. He missed the first few months of a relationship which included going on dates to the theatre of the bowling alley. He missed having someone hold his hand and walk the length of the city while watching the stars. Suddenly the reminiscing stopped and John was consumed by guilt. Collecting himself, John lifted Sherlock into his arms and moved him onto the bed, laying him on his side before leaving the room. He couldn’t stay there. Hell now he couldn't even bring himself to look at the man he loved, not while he was like this over something so foolish. All the concern before had worn off and John just felt utter disappointment. This was not over, not by a long shot, they needed to work this out but he would have to wait until the detective was able to think clearly and explain himself. John needed to know what the hell they were going to do because right now, he didn’t have the answers. The only one who could help them move past this was Sherlock himself. 

Hours passed. John wandered into the room from time to time to check on the detective but that was all he did. It seemed selfish of him to be angry, he knew this, honestly he did, but he didn't care. His mind was oddly empty, he felt nothing but guilt and anger however even those feelings were dimmed. After a while of wandering the flat, he settled himself, sitting himself in the living room, John looked around and sighed, cases had been piling up lately, oddly he hadn’t even noticed. Being in this relationship had distracted John so incredibly that he barely noticed anything besides the building resentment he had towards his partner. Was all of this his fault? Could his own desires have blinded him to how Sherlock really was? Had he read one too many online love stories that lead to them getting married and living happily ever after? Should he simply talked to the detective? Would anything have helped them deal with this rough patch? Was it Sherlock’s fault for being so damn obsessed with cases? No. “It’s all my fault” John whispered hoarsely to himself. Moments passed as the silence in the room was deafening. Getting to his feet, John felt an invisible force pulling him to his lover’s side and moved back to Sherlock, sitting on the bed and taking his hand. Silence. Not something John was unused to especially with Sherlock in the room. This silence was different though, this silence was empty and cold, whereas usually he can feel Sherlock’s mind moving at a mile a minute. “I know you wouldn’t want me to apologize but I’m going to. I know you won’t hear me but that’s nothing new…” he felt a near laugh catch in his throat as he said it. “But you warned me things wouldn’t be the most normal. I knew it. I accepted it. Then I got bitter when things weren’t going like I thought they would right off the bat. That won’t happen again. It’s my fault, I wanted too much from you. From now on I will be your blogger again and we can make this work your way…” he trailed off, disheartened at the prospect of not getting the dreamy relationship he had hoped for, but that didn’t matter to him as much as Sherlock’s safety and happiness. “I love you” he whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the sleeping detective’s forehead before getting up and putting the door back in place. Tomorrow would be a new day. For tonight, all John did was get into his pyjamas, crawl into the bed and cuddle up to his sleeping partner before trying to get to sleep, making sure to have one hand on his chest in the attempt to monitor it’s beating subtly until he woke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll admit I’ve been a bit derailed for some time, I wanted to make regular updates and carry this all forward but time after time life gets in the way. I’m glad if you are still reading after all the time that’s passed and hope I can get back into this. Pre-warning: chapters will be a little all over the place for the beginning of the relationship but please bear with it. I just can’t see these two working right off the bat.  
> Thank you for reading :3

**Author's Note:**

> More will be posted soon, this is my first attempt at writing so ... Yeah.


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